LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


OF" 


Mrs.  SARAH  P.  WALSWORTH. 

Received  October, 
Accessions  No. 5^/332  .      Class  No.    ^ 


WINIFRED  BERTRAM 


AND 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN, 


#y  /A<?  Author  of 

"TtfE   SCHONBERG-COTTA   FAMILY/' 
"  DIARY   OF  KITTY   TREVYLYAN,"  &c. 


UK  17  BE  SI  IT 


New  York: 

DODD,  506  BROADWAY. 
1866. 


AUTH  O  R'S    EDITION 

. 


NEW    YORK  ; 


20  NORTH  WILLIAM  SI'. 


AUTHOR. 

"The  Author  of  the  'Schonberg-Cotta  Family' 
wishes  it  to  be  generally  known  among  the  readers  of  her 
books  in  America,  that  the  American  Editions  issued  by 
Mr.  M.  W.  Dodd,  of  New  York,  alone  have  the  Author's 
sanction." 


ESITTJ] 


WINIFRED  BERTRAM. 


CHAPTER  I. 


one  of  the  pleasantest  outskirts  of  Lon- 
don stood,  or  stands,  a  pleasant  ram- 
bling old  house,  built  of  red  brick,  toned 
"by  the  rains  and  suns  of  a  hundred  and 
fifty  years  to  a  quaint  variety  of  tints.  There  were 
bow-windows  in  it,  and  balconies,  and  verandahs, 
and  projections,  and  recesses,  which  threw  all  kinds 
of  irregular  shadows,  and  made  you  feel  attracted 
at  once  to  the  old  house  which  some  of  its  owners 
had  evidently  taken  such  pleasure  in : — which,  in  its 
small  way,  had  grown  up,  like  an  old  Gothic  church, 
out  of  the  tastes  and  needs  of  people  who  delighted 
in  it.  Its  eccentricities,  moreover,  were  veiled  by 
climbing  roses  and  jasmine  and  magnolias,  inter- 
weaving the  balconies  with  intricate  tracery,  fes- 
1*  (6) 


6  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

tooning  the  verandahs,  clustering  round  the 
windows. 

In  the  drawing-room  of  this  house  one  warm  day 
in  August  three  people  were  collected — Mrs. 
O'Brien,  its  mistress ;  her  nephew  Maurice  Bertram, 
a  young  clergyman ;  and  his  little  sister,  Winifred. 
A  soft  spell  of  repose,  a  kind  of  dreamy  charm  hung 
about  that  room.  No  color,  no  form,  no  perfume 
predominated  in  it.  Nothing  was  old,  so  as  to  give 
the  slightest  indication  of  coming  to  an  end ;  nothing 
was  new,  so  as  to  give  the  slightest  clue  to  its  hav- 
ing had  a  beginning. 

That  carpet  on  which  the  foot  sank  noiselessly 
as  on  the  softest  mossy  turf,  those  soft  draperies 
and  languishing  chairs  and  sofas,  those  bronze  stat- 
uettes and  quaint  vases,  what  imagination  could 
ever  dive  so  far  as  to  trace  them  back  to  factories 
and  warehouses,  to  the  hammering  and  screwing 
and  planing  and  stitching  of  working  men  and 
women?  No!  they  must  have  floated  into  their 
places  like  the  furniture  of  Aladdin's  palace,  like  the 
stones  at  the  voice  of  Orpheus,  at  the  call  of  a  genie, 
to  the  sound  of  fairy  music. 

Did  not  the  breath  of  enchantment  linger  around 
them  still  ?  What  else  was  that  elegant  aromatic 
perfume  which  stole  over  your  senses  ?  Why  else 
did  every  sound  enter  there  softened  and  har- 
monized, so  that  the  voices  from  tile  houses  in  the 
valley  below — voices  of  eager  women,  and  crying 
babies,  and  shouting  school-boys — sounded  there 
soff,  and  dreamy  as  the  hum  of  the  bees  about  the 
flowers  outside ; — just  as  the  sorrows  and  crimes  of 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  j 

the  world  came  to  Mrs.  O'Brien's  heart,  artistically 
made  musical  and  harmonious  through  the  pages 
of  the  novel  she  was  reading. 

There  were  three  drawing-rooms,  one  within 
another,  like  the  recesses  in  an  Indian  cabinet, 
each  smaller  and  choicer  than  the  last. 

In  the  outer  of  these,  Maurice  Bertram  sat  writ- 
ing by  an  open  window,  looking  over  the  sloping 
lawns  and  shrubberies  of  the  house,  and  a  rich  land- 
scape of  meadow  and  woodland,  to  a  distance  of 
blue  hills. 

A  pleasant  fresh  breeze  now  and  then  breathed 
in  at  this  window.  It  was  the  only  place  in  the 
room  which  led  your  thoughts  from  the  little  en- 
chanted world  within  to  the  world  outside,  and  by 
.the  rapidity  with  which  Maurice  was  writing, 
and  the  clear  steady  light  in  his  eyes  when,  from 
time  to  time,  he  looked  up,  it  was  plain  that  the 
drowsy  spell  of  the  place  had  not  fallen  upon  him. 

In  the  next  room  his  little  sister  Winifred  lay 
curled  up  in  the  depths  of  an  easy-chair,  divided 
between  a  story-book  and  a  sleepy  kitten. 

In  the  innermost  room  Mrs.  O'Brien  was  resting 
on  a  sofa,  languidly  turning  over  the  pages  of  a  new 
novel. 

Winifred's  interest  in  her  book  seemed  to  have 
been  becoming  more  and  more  feeble,  until  at  length 
she  let  it  fall  from  her  hand  on  the  cushions  among 
which  she  herself  sank  back,,  in  an  attitude  of  the 
profoundest  weariness.  She  was  soon,  however,  as 
weary  of  repose  as  she  had  been  of  reading,  and  her 
half-closed  eyes  wandered  dreamily  from  Maurice  to 


8  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

her  aunt,  as  if  looking  for  some  one  or  something  it 
would  be  worth  while  to  disturb,  so  as  to  extract  a 
little  excitement. 

At  last  she  deposited  pussy  on  the  cushions,  and 
slipping  from  the  chair  wandered  across  the  room 
to  Mrs.  O'Brien,  and,  throwing  herself  on  a  rug  by 
the  sofa,  drew  her  aunt's  arm  around  her. 

After  remaining  quiet  thus  a  few  moments,  she 
suddenly  looked  up  and  said : 

"Auntie,  what  did  uncle  mean  by  calling  Mr. 
Vernon  blase  yesterday  ?  I  looked  in  the  French 
dictionary,  and  it  said,  *  burnt  up,  consumed,'  but 
that  must  be  a  mistake.  What  did  uncle  mean  ?" 

"Little  girls  should  not  always  want  to  know 
what  grown-up  people  mean,"  said  Mrs.  O'Brien, 
rather  bewildered  by  this  sudden  call  on  her  facul- 
ties, and  anxious  to  prevent  further  precocious 
researches  into  French  dictionaries.  "I  suppose 
your  uncle  meant  that  Mr.  Vernon  seemed  rather 
tired  and  discontented — looked,  indeed,  as  if  he 
had  come  to  the  end  of  everything,  and  cared  for 
nothing." 

"  I  knew  the  dictionary  was  absurd,"  said  Win- 
nie, who  looked  on  the  dictionary  in  the  light  of  a 
natural  enemy,  without  which  she  should  have 
learned  French  with  as  little  difficulty  as  English. 
"  Well,  auntie,  if  that  is  what  blase  means,  that  is 
exactly  what  I  am.  I  am  tired  of  everything.  I 
have  come  to  the  endrof  everything.  I  was  at  five 
parties  last  week,  and  every  one  was  duller  than  the 
last.  I  knew  beforehand  just  what  would  be  said 
and  done.  And  now,  this  new  story-book.  It  is 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  9 

exactly  like  the  last,  only  a  little  altered  and  done 
up  fresh,  as  Rosalie  alters  my  wreaths  and  dresses. 
I  can't  think,  auntie,  how  people  go  on  saying  and 
doing  the  same  things  all  their  lives  long.  It  is 
always  round  and  round,  the  same  over  and  over 
again,  and  nothing  in  it.  I  think  the  world  is  dread- 
fully small  and  old,  aunt.  If  that  is  what  blase 
means,  that  must  be  just  what  Mr.  Vernon  and  I 
are.  We've  got  to  the  end  of  everything,  and  don't 
care  for  anything — only,  of  course,  auntie,  it's 
much  worse  for  me  than  for  him,  because  I'm  so 
much  nearer  the  beginning." 

Mrs.  O'Brien  laughed  as  she  patted  Winnie's 
round  fair  cheek,  and  mentally  compared  it  with 
Mr.  Yernon's  sallow  hollow  face,  and  thought  how 
amused  Mr.  O'Brien  would  be  with  the  child's 
precocity. 

But  Maurice  who  had  an  inconvenient  habit  of 
taking  in  whatever  was  going  on,  however  busy 
he  seemed  to  be  with  something  else,  at  this  point 
interposed,  and  said  quietly,  "  Winnie,  I  think 
your  French  dictionary  was  right."  Winnie,  thus 
challenged  to  controversy,  marched  briskly  to 
Maurice,  and  planted  herself  on  a  footstool  at  his 
feet. 

"  If,"  Maurice  continued,  "  you  had  been  given 
a  long  twist  of  wax  taper  to  light  up  your  Christ- 
mas tree  for  a  whole  evening,  and  you  chose  to 
burn  it  up  in  a  few  minutes,  whose  fault  would  it  be 
that  you  had  come  to  the  end  of  everything,  and 
what  right  would  you  have  to  complain  ?" 

"  It  would  be  principally  Rosalie's  fault  for  giv- 


lo  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

ing  it  to  me,"  said  Winnie,  perceiving  the  aim  of 
her  brother's  shafts  much  too  plainly  not  to  avoid 
them.  But  I  should  nt>t  think  of  complaining.  I 
should  have  enjoyed  myself  in  my  own  way.  And 
I  should  lie  down  for  the  rest  of  the  time,  and  go  to 
sleep.  And  that  is  just  what  I  should  like  to  do 
altogether  now ;  and  I  dare  say  so  would  Mr.  Ver- 
non,"  she  concluded,  "  only  we  can't,  and  that's  the 
unpleasant  part  of  it.  We've  come  to  the  end  of 
all  the  things,  and  we  have  to  go  on  as  if  we 
hadn't." 

"  Ah,"  rejoined  Maurice,  "  I  see  you  never  heard 
of  the  Contracting  Chamber.  It  is  rather  strange, 
considering  how  extensive  your  reading  has  been." 

At  first  Winnie  did  not  seem  to  heed,  she  played 
with  a  rose,  pulling  it  very  elaborately  to  pieces,  as 
if  she  did  not  care  for  anything  else.  But  as  Mau- 
rice was  rising  to  go  into  the  garden,  her  curiosity 
got  the  better  of  her,  and  she  vouchsafed  to  say  : 

"  What  is  the  Contracting  Chamber,  Maurice  ? 
I  dare  say  it  is  only  one  of  your  Ragged  School  sto- 
ries, and  I  always  know  what  you're  at  in  them 
after  the  first  few  sentences." 

"  So  do  the  ragged  boys  sometimes,  I  am  afraid," 
said  Maurice  laughing.  "  You  see  I  am  not  so 
clever  as  you  and  the  ragged  children.  But  that  is 
only  natural  since  you  have  come  so  close  to  the 
end  of  things,  and  they  have  come  a  little  nearer 
than  you,  1  am  afraid,  while  I  have  not  come  to  the 
end  of  one  world  yet,  or  of  anything  in  it,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  five  other  worlds." 

"Five  other  worlds!"  said  Winnie,  "what  are 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  \  i 

they  ?     I  hope  they  are  not  all  the  same  as  this. 
But,  Maurice,  this  once  I  will  be  your  ragged  class." 

"  At  a  time  not  very  long  ago,"  began  Maurice, 
"  and  in  a  country  not  very  far  off,  there  was  a 
palace  built  on  very  peculiar  principles.  Indeed, 
some  people  said  it  was  not  built  at  all,  but  grew. 
The  queen  of  this  palace  was  very  amiable  and 
benevolent,  and  did  what  she  could  to  make  every 
one  around  her  happy.  She  expected  that  all  her 
courtiers  should  do  the  same.  All  her  court-ladies, 
therefore,  while  they  were  provided  with  the  most 
beautiful  suites  of  apartments  in  the  palace  (the 
furniture  and  situation  of  each  being  exactly  suited 
to  the  tastes  of  the  occupants),  were  expected  to 
make  these  apartments  in  some  way  workrooms 
for  the  good  of  their  country.  That  country  had 
been  sadly  misgoverned  by  the  preceding  dynasty, 
and  there  was  a  great  deal  in  it  to  be  set  right. 

"All  the  apartments  of  the  cburt-ladies,  there- 
fore, were  also  offices  for  some  work  of  charity. 
The  title  of  each  was  written  on  the  door  under 
the  name  of  the  occupant,  so  that  there  could  be  no 
mistake  about  it  for  applicants  or  inmates.  One, 
for  instance,  was  the  office  for  the  blind,  another 
for  the  deaf  and  dumb,  another  for  sick  children — " 

"And  another  for  Ragged  Schools,  no  doubt," 
interrupted  Winnie. 

"  N"o  doubt,"  said  Maurice.  "  The  singular  thing, 
however,  about  these  apartments  was  that  if  the 
possessor  did  not  attend  to  the  benevolent  work 
assigned  to  her,  but  used  them  only  for  herself  and 
her  own  pleasure,  the  whole  suite  gradually  con- 


12  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

tracted  until  they  became  so  narrow  as  slowly  to 
stifle  the  inmate,  and  finally  to  crush  her  into  dust ; 
when  from  beautiful  homes  they  became  narrow, 
crumbling  mausoleums." 

"  If  many  of.  the  ladies  made  a  bad  use  of  their 
apartments,  the  palace  must  have  had  a  very  forlorn 
look,"  observed  Winnie. 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  Maurice  replied.  "  The 
instant  the  unfaithful  occupant  had  been  crushed 
and  buried,  the  mausoleum  also  crumbled  into  dust, 
and  a  new  dwelling  rose  on  the  site." 

"  Very  uncomfortable,"  said  Winnie,  "for  the  new 
ladies  to  be  living  on  the  graves  of  the  old  ones." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Maurice.  "They  knew  no- 
thing about  it.  Every  one  everywhere  is  always 
living  over  graves  of  somebody  or  something,  and 
very  few  think  of  it." 

"  I  think  nothing  of  the  amiability  and  benevo- 
lence of  that  queen,"  resumed  Winnie,  with  con- 
siderable vehemence.  "I  think  she  was  a  hard- 
hearted wretch." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Maurice.  "The  queen  had 
nothing  to  do  with  it.  The  apartments,  as  I  told 
you,  were  self-acting.  It  was  their  nature  to  do  as 
they  did.  No  one  could  help  it.  They  contracted 
in  this  way  by  the  same  kind  of  law  which  makes 
the  earth  go  round,  and  the  tides  ebb  and  flow." 

"  But,"  rejoined  Winne,  "  those  court-ladies  must 
have  been  exceedingly  foolish.  When  they  saw  the 
apartments  contracting,  if  they  did  not  like  to  do 
their  work,  why  did  they  not  escape  in  time  ?" 

"  They  never  did  see  the  apartments  contracting," 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  l^ 

said  Maurice.  "  They  saw  their  neighbors'  apart- 
ments contracting  sometimes  from  the  outside,  but 
never  their  own ;  and  for  this  reason :  The  rooms 
were  full  of  mirrors  and  paintings  on  glass,  arranged 
in  such  a  way  as  to  cause  a  strange  optical  delusion. 
As  window  after  window  was  slowly  and  silently 
crushed  out  it  was  replaced  by  a  mirror,  which 
made  the  wretched  occupant  think  that,  whatever 
was  happening  outside,  all  was  right  within.  The 
world  was  growing  narrower  and  narrower,  she 
thought,  but  inside  all  was  spacious  and  beautiful 
as  ever.  And  so  she  went  on  admiring  herself  more 
and  more  in  the  mirrors,  as  window  after  window 
into  the  outer  world  vanished,  until  at  last  the 
stifling  air  of  the  poor  narrow  chamber  overpow- 
ered her,  and  she  fainted  away  and  was  crushed, 
and  never  heard  of  more." 

Winnie's  eyes  had  been  cast  down,  and  her  face 
had  been  growing  very  grave  and  earnest  during 
the  last  part  of  Maurice's  story.  When  he  paused, 
for  a  minute  she  said  nothing,  but  looked  wistfully 
out  through  the  window,  until,  glancing  up,  and 
seeing  Maurice's  eyes  fixed  on  her,  she  colored,  and 
said,  laughing : 

"  That  is  a  very  dismal  story,  Maurice,  and  I 
would  rather  hear  nothing  more  about  it.  Auntie 
says  it  is  not  of  the  least  use  to  make  one's  self 
miserable  about  miserable  things  that  never  hap- 
pened after  all." 

"  But  suppose  they  did  happen,  and  are  happen- 
ing," said  Maurice,  "  and  we  could  do  something  to 
stop  their  happening  any  more." 
2 


!4_  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

"  There  !  now  I  have  caught  you,"  she  retorted. 
"  You  have  tried  to  cheat  me  with  a  story  which  is, 
after  all,  only  an  allegory.  And  I  hate  allegories. 
I  can't  think  why  people  cannot  be  honest,  and 
speak  out  what  they  want  to  say  at  once." 

Nevertheless  Winnie  could  not  get  Maurice's 
story  out  of  her  head. 

It  haunted  her.  She  could  not  help  wondering 
if  she  had  got  into  the  Contracting  Chamber.  But 
she  would  on  no  account  betray  this  to  Maurice. 
She  went  with  him  that  afternoon  to  the  little  gate 
which  led  out  of  the  rock  garden,  and  took  leave  of 
him  in  a  light  and  easy  manner,  as  if  his  words  had 
not  made  the  slightest  impression  on  her.  Then 
she  returned  to  her  favorite  nook,  the  grotto  in  the 
rock-garden,  with  the  little  spring  bubbling  up  in 
the  middle  of  it  and  then  oozing  through  a  little 
wilderness  of  ferns  and  mosses  and  cool  large-leaved 
plants  to  the  stone  basin  in  the  centre  of  the  garden, 
with  the  stone-seat  beside  it.  On  that  seat  Winnie 
placed  herself,  watching  the  little  stream  as  it 
trickled  into  the  basin,  and  made  little  eddies  and 
bubbles,  which  rocked  the  water-lilies  as  they 
floated,  while  the  forget-me-nots  swayed  hither  and 
thither  in  the  current  of  air,  and  wondering  about 
the  Contracting  Chamber,  and  whether  any  one  had 
ever  got  out  of  it.  She  was  planning  how  to  ob- 
tain further  information  on  the  subject  from  Mau- 
rice, without  betraying  too  personal  an  interest  in 
it,  when  she  was  startled  by  a  little  feeble,  childish 
voice  quite  near  her. 

Listening  attentively,  she  heard  the  words : 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  ^ 

"  Please  give  me  a  flower,  lady.  Please  give  me 
a  flower !"  repeated  in  a  monotonous,  plaintive 
strain,  as  if  it  were  a  kind  of  chant. 

Climbing  up  on  the  seat  and  leaning  over,  Win- 
nie saw  at  the  garden-gate  a  little  face  peeping  in. 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  run  for  safety  to  the 
house.  She  had  always  been  very  seriously  warned 
about  the  wickedness  of  beggars,  and  their  mys- 
terious connection  with  wicked  old  women  who  de- 
lighted to  steal  rich  people's  children,  especially 
naughty  children,  and  make  them  miserable  (partly 
from  the  pleasure  of  it  and  partly  as  instruments  of 
divine  vengeance)  ;  stories  that,  as  Winnie's  con- 
science was  never  absolutely  clear,  left  in  her  mind 
a  confused  dread  of  beggars  and  of  Providence. 

There  was  something,  however,  in  that  little, 
feeble  childish  voice  which  attracted  her  irresistibly. 
So,  after  looking  towards  the  house  to  see  that  there 
were  no  signs  of  Mademoiselle  Rosalie,  and  over  the 
gate  out  beyond  the  garden  to  assure  herself  that 
no  dangerous  old  woman  was  lurking  near,  Winnie 
went  to  the  gate  and  spoke  to  the  child  through 
the  bars. 

"  What  do  you  want  little  girl  ?"  she  said. 

"  Please  give  me  a  flower,  lady,"  repeated  the  lit- 
tle plaintive  voice.  "  Please  do  give  me  a  flower." 

"Winnie's  interest  was  aroused,  and  gathering 
several  scarlet  geraniums  and  blue  lobelias,  she 
gave  them  through  the  bars  into  the  little  eager 
outstretched  hand. 

How  thin  the  little  hand  was,  how  wan  and  wiz- 
zened  the  little  face  *i- 


j6  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

The  flowers  were  eagerly  clutched,  hut  "Winnie's 
sense  of  politeness  was  sorely  outraged  hy  not  a 
word  of  thanks  "being  returned. 

Still  further  was  she  repelled  when,  after  smelling 
the  flowers,  the  stranger  held  them  back  with  a  dis- 
appointed air,  and  the  petition  began  again,  this 
time  more  boldly  than  before  : 

"Please,  lady,  give  me  a  flower.  Them  has  no 
smell.  And  it's  for  Dan — poor  brother  Dan." 

Winnie  felt  perplexed.  The  little  girl  had  evi- 
dently not  at  all  good  manners.  But  then  neither 
had  she  any  bonnet  nor  shoes,  which  might  be  an 
extenuating  circumstance.  When  one  has  no  shoes, 
Winnie  thought,  one's  manners  perhaps  necessarily 
deteriorate;  although,  in  the  stories  about  chari- 
table children,  she  was  quite  sure  there  was  not  one 
instance  of  a  gift  being  received  in  such  a  free  and 
easy  way.  The  little  children  in  the  moral  tales, 
especially  the  French  ones,  always  went  into  such 
raptures  at  the  beneficence  of  the  charitable  young 
ladies,  and  with  streaming  eyes  invoked  every 
blessing  on  their  fair  young  heads. 

However,  she  felt  very  sorry  for  the  ragged 
little  girl,  and  she  also  felt  anxious  to  know  who 
"  Dan  "  was. 

Accordingly,  yielding  to  her  kindly  impulses,  she 
said,  although  with  much  dignity,  that  the  little 
beggar  child  might  feel  the  great  gulf  between 
good  manners  and  none  at  all : 

"  You  may  come  into  the  garden,  little  girl,  and 
choose  for  yourself;  only  you  ought  always  to  say, 
thank  you." 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  17 

The  little  girl  stared  in  equal  bewilderment  at 
the  permission  and  the  exhortation. 

But  when  the  gate  was  opened  she  did  not  hesi- 
tate a  moment  what  to  choose.  Paradise  that  the 
garden  was  to  her,  she  was  nevertheless  in  no 
way  perplexed  among  its  treasures.  She  walked 
straight  to  a  moss-rose  bush,  and  gathered  from  it 
one  rose  and  one  rose-bud. 

"That  is  what  Dan  wanted,"  she  said.  "Dan 
will  be  so  pleased,  lady.  It  will  make  him  smile, 
this  will,  and  he  hasn't  smiled  these  days." 

And  though  she  did  not  say  thank  you,  Winnie 
concluded  that  was  her  way  of  expressing  the 
same,  and  modified  her  opinion  as  to  her  guest's 
manners. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?"  she  asked.  "  And  who 
is  Dan  ?" 

"  Dan's  my  brother,"  was  the  reply,  "  and  they 
call  me  Fan,  at  least  aunt  does  when  she  ain't 
cross,  and  uncle  does  when  he  ain't  been  drinking, 
and  knows  one  of  us  from  the  t'other.  And  Dan 
does  always.  Leastways  he  calls  me  little  Fan, 
and  so  used  mother." 

"  Doesn't  your  mother  call  you  Fan  now  ?"  asked 
Winnie  ;  "  what  does  she  call  you  then  ?" 

"  She  don't  never  call  me,"  said  Fan  ;  "  she  don't 
never  call  neither  Dan  nor  me  now ;  and  Dan  says 
she  never  won't." 

"  Where  is  she  gone  then  ?"  asked  Winnie,  grow- 
ing confidential.  **  My  mamma,  too,  is  a  long  way 
off— in  India." 

"Mother  ain't  a  long  way  off,"  said  the  child. 


1 8  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

"  They  only  took  her  down  into  the  country. 
'Twasn't  far,  they  said.  But  she  hasn't  never 
come  back.  Aunt  said  one  day  when  she  was 
cross  and  beat  me,  and  I  was  crying  for  mother, 
that  they'd  been  and  put  her  in  a  box  under 
ground.  But  aunt  don't  mean  half  she  says  when 
she's  cross.  Dan  says  she's  in  heaven,  and  he 
says  heaven  ain't  far  off,  for  folks  goes  there  all  in 
a  minute.  He  learned  the  hymn  about  it  at  the 
school.  Dan  did." 

"  Does  Dan  say  hymns  ?"  Winnie  asked. 

"  He  sings  one  hymn,"  said  the  little  girl. 

"  What  hymn  is  that  ?"  said  Winnie. 

"About  the  children  in  heaven,  and  glory," 
replied  the  child.  "  But  I  can't  say  it.  I'm  two- 
years  younger  than  Dan,  come  Christmas.  And 
I  never  went  to  school.  I've  got  to  mind  aunt's 
baby." 

"Where -did  Dan  learn  his  hymn?"  Winnie 
asked. 

"At  the  school  at  the  end  of  our  court,"  Fan 
replied. 

"  Why  did  he  not  learn  any  more,  Fan  ?" 

"He  did  learn  more,"  said  Fan;  "he  learned 
Our  Father  chartneaven." 

"  What  is  that  ?"  said  Winnie,  bewildered. 

"It's  what  Dan  says  mornings  and  evenings. 
I  don't  rightly  know  what  it  means ;  but  it  is 
good  words,  Dan  says,  and  it  seems  to  make  him 
happy." 

"  Why  does  not  Dan  keep  on  going  to  the  school, 
if  he  likes  it  so  much  ?"  Winnie  resumed. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  Ip 

"  He  couldn't  go  no  more,  since  he  broke  his 
leg,"  said  Fan. 

"  Did  Dan  break  his  leg  ?"  Winnie  exclaimed ; 
"  how  dreadful !  How  did  he  do  that  ?"  . 

"  Going  up  the  chimney  with  the  sweeps'  brush 
for  uncle,"  said  the  child. 

"  Was  that  long  since  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  Fan  replied;  "it  seems  very 
long.  And  he  don't  get  no  better.  The  doctor 
said  he  could  walk,  but  he  hasn't  no  strength. 
There  isn't  always  much  to  eat,  and  Dan  can't 
always  eat  what  there  is.  Dan  don't  hardly  ever 
smile  now,"  she  continued;  "only  after  he  says 
Pur  Father  or  the  hymn,  and  when  the  lady  oppo- 
site, who  keeps  the  grocer's  shop,  brought  him  a 
flower  from  the  country.  So  I  came  out  to  look 
for  a  flower  like  that  all  pink  and  curled  up,  and 
wrapped  up  in  bits  of  green,  and  smelling  sweet. 
And  now,"  she  concluded,  "I  must  go  home  to 
Dan.  He'll  be  watching  for  me  from  his  bed  at 
the  garret  window,  and  wondering  what's  come 
to  me." 

By  this  time  Winnie's  heart  was  quite  won  to 
the  poor  little  girl  with  the  sharp,  thin  face,  and 
she  said : 

"  Take  some  more  roses,  little  Fan.  See,  I  will 
gather  them  for  you." 

But  Fan  shook  her  head. 

"  Don't  pick  'em,  lady,"  she  said,  "  they  look  so 
happy  like  among  the  bits  of  green.  It'll  be  nice 
to  think  of  'em  and  tell  Dan  about  'em,  and  one 
will  make  Dan  smile  as  well  as  hundreds.  Be- 


20  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

sides,"  she  added,  carefully  concealing  her  treas- 
ures in  her  little  ragged  apron,  and  lowering  her 
voice,  "  there's  the  boys  in  our  court.  If  they  see 
them,  they'll  snatch  'em  from  me,  and  I  can't  hide 
any  more." 

"  Where  is  your  court  ?"  asked  Winnie,  full  of 
projects.  "  Is  it  a  long  way  off  ?" 

"  It  seemed  pretty  far,"  said  the  child,  "  for  my 
feet  got  sore  ;  and  it  was  so  long  before  I  got  away 
from  the  houses.  But  I  shall  soon  be  back." 

And  as  the  little  creature  limped  away,  Winnie 
saw  that  her  little  bare  feet  were  blistered,  and  she 
exclaimed : 

"  Oh  wait,  little  Fan !  Wait !  and  I  will  run 
and  tell  auntie.  Or,  if  you  must  go,  tell  me  ex- 
actly where  you  live,  that  I  may  come  and  see  you. 
Where  do  you  live  ?" 

"  In  our  court,"  said  the  child. 

"  What  is  it  called  ?"  asked  Winnie. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  little  girl.  "  It's  our 
court  where  we  always  lived.  The  Ragged  School 
is  at  one  end,  and  the  other  opens  into  the  street 
with  the  apple-stalls  close  to  the  church  with  the 
large  doors  and  the  tall  tower,  where  the  people 
who  have  good  clothes  go  on  Sundays." 

Winnie  was  on  the  point  of  pressing  for  a  more 
minute  direction,  when  a  shrill  voice  echoed  through 
the  garden,  and  thrilled  through  her  with  a  vague 
sense  that  she  was  doing  something  she  ought  not 
to  do. 

"  Mademoiselle  Vini  !  Mademoiselle  Yini  !  " 
screamed  Mademoiselle  Rosalie,  in  the  purest  Paris- 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  21 

ian  accent ;  "  what  voyages  your  eccentric  habits 
cause  me,  what  solicitudes,  what  fatigue  !"  Then 
pausing,  in  horror,  with  uplifted  hands,  as  she 
beheld  into  what  company  Winnie  had  sunk,  she 
appealed  to  Heaven  to  witness  the  impossibility  of 
any  human  care  ensuring  the  safety  of  that  terrible 
child.  Then  with  slow,  distinct  utterance,  hissing 
out  the  words  between  her  teeth,  she  chased  "  that 
monster  "  little  Fan  from  the  garden.  Whilst  Fan 
fled  in  speechless  terror  in  one  direction,  Made- 
moiselle Rosalie  drew  Winnie  after  her  in  the 
other,  in  anything  but  speechless  indignation,  by 
the  threat  of  telling  all  to  madame. 

"  Madame  1"  she  exclaimed,  when  she  entered 
Mrs.  O'Brien's  presence,  "it  is  scarcely  half  an 
hour  since  I  miss  mademoiselle.  Distracted,  I  seek 
her  in  every  corner  of  your  domain.  At  length  I 
catch  a  glimpse  of  her  dress.  I  quicken  my  steps. 
I  arrive.  Picture  to  yourself  my  feelings,  madame, 
I  find  her  face  to  face  with  a  child  of  the  lowest 
people,  of  the  mob ;  absolutely  in  the  closest 
approximation  to  a  creature  without  boots,  without 
hat,  with  hair  like  a  lioness',  absolutely  without 
toilette ;  a  being  from  whom  one  might  catch  the 
smallpox,  the  plague,  anything — to  say  nothing  of 
the  morals  of  those  people.  Mademoiselle  takes 
the  hand  of  this  little  wretch.  She  is  on  the  point 
of  embracing  her.  For  a  moment  I  am  crushed, 
annihilated.  Then,  recovering  myself,  I  cry,  *  Go, 
little  monster,  little  perfidious  one,  thus  intruding 
thyself  into  the  bosom  of  families  of  distinction !' 
*  Come  then,'  I  say  to  mademoiselle,  '  my  angel, 


22  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

come  to  my  arms  !  Together  let  us  thank  a  merci- 
ful Heaven,  who  rescues  thee  from  such  contamina- 
tion.' Mademoiselle,  however,"  she  concluded, 
pathetically  waving  her  hands,  "  misunderstands 
my  intentions.  She  fails  to  appreciate  my  senti- 
ments. She  rejects  my  care§ses.  She  weeps,  she  is 
enraged.  She  behaves  in  all  respects  like  a  young 
person  beside  herself.  Such  rebuffs,  madame,  must 
a  sensitive  heart  too  often  experience." 

And  in  truth  Winnie,  on  this  occasion,  to  all 
appearance,  justified  mademoiselle's  accusations  far 
more  than  her  caresses.  She  called  her  an  "  ill- 
natured,  spiteful  thing,"  with  other  strong  Saxon 
epithets,  not  at  all  worthy  of  a  young  lady  who 
was  learning  the  purest  Parisian,  and  was  altogether 
so  excited  and  distressed  that  she  could  by  no 
means  make  Mrs.  O'Brien  understand  as  she  desired 
either  the  enormities  of  Rosalie  or  the  excellences 
of  Fan. 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  Mrs.  O'Brien  at  length, 
when  Rosalie  had  abandoned  the  field,  and  Winnie 
was  endeavoring  to  sob  out  her  explanations,  "  you 
really  must  not  agitate  youself  in  this  way.  You 
are  too  excitable,  too  sensitive.  Control  your  feel- 
ings, I  entreat  you." 

And  Mrs.  O'Brien  enforced  her  consolations  by 
bathing  Winnie's  forehead  with  Eau  de  jOologne ; 
so  that  Winnie  had  to  submit  to  being  treated  as  if 
her  sobs  were  hysterical,  instead  of  sympathetic, 
until  she  had  quieted  herself  sufficiently  to  say : 

"  O  auntie  !  poor  little  Fan !  poor  little  Fan !  She 
is  not  a  monster;  Rosalie  is!  She  is  a  poor  little 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN".  23 

girl  without  shoes.  And  I  was  not  going  to  kiss 
her.  She  hadn't  washed  her  face.  She  only  wanted 
one  rose  to  take  to  Dan.  Dan  is  her  poor  little 
brother,  who  broke  his  leg.  And  they  live  in  the 
court  opposite  the  church  with  the  high  tower,  with 
the  Ragged  School  at  one  end  of  it.  And  I  do  so 
want  to  go  and  see  them.  I  am  sure  Maurice  could 
find  it.  Oh  please  do  let  me  go." 

"  My  dear  child,"  expostulated  Mrs.  O'Brien, 
"  you  really  should  not  invite  any  little  beggar 
girl  into  the  garden.  It  is  hardly  safe.  You  can 
give  her  sixpence  through  the  bars  when  she  comes 
again.  She  is  sure  to  come  again." 

"  Oh  no,"  sobbed  Winnie ;  "  she  is  sure  never  to 
come  again! — never!  Rosalie  was  so  cross;  she 
was  like  a  fury.  And  Fan  only  wanted  that  one  rose. 
She  did  not  ask  for  anything  else.  And  her  mother 
is  dead.  Oh,  don't  listen  to  Rosalie.  Please  do  let 
me  go  and  see  little  Fan." 

"  My  darling,"  said  Mrs.  O'Brien,  "  you  have  too 
much  feeling.  There  are  so  many  little  girls  in  the 
world  whose  mothers  are  dead.  It  is  very  sad. 
But  there  always  were.  And  your  uncle  and  I  sub- 
scribe to  three  Orphan  Asylums.  Besides,  no  one 
ever  could  find  out  your  little  orphan  with  such  a 
direction  as  that.  There  are  thousands  of  courts  in 
London,  and  hundreds  of  churches  and  ragged 
schools.  Besides,  if  there  is  a  church  and  a  school 
so  close,  there  is  somebody  to  take  care  of  the  little 
girl  and  her  sick  brother." 

Winnie  was  quite  confident  that  Maurice  could 
find  out :  and  at  length  the  matter  was  compromised 


24  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

by  referring  it  to  Maurice,  although  Mrs.  O'Brien 
said,  she  could  not  think  of  allowing  Winnie  to  go 
herself.  She  could  never  answer  for  the  conse- 
quences to  her  mother  in  India. 

And  that  night,  during  the  little  while  that  Win- 
nie lay  awake  before  she  fell  asleep,  her  heart^was 
much  too  full  of  little  Fan  and.  her  griefs  to  wonder 
any  more  whether  she  had  got  into  the  Contracting 
Chamber. 

Just  as  she  was  falling  asleep,  however,  what 
Maurice  had  said  about  the  Five  Worlds  came  into 
her  mind,  and  she  resolved  to  ask  what  he  meant. 

One  new  world  had  opened  before  her  and  be- 
neath her  that  day,  which  she  certainly  could  not 
yet  see  to  the  end  of. 


The  next  morning  Winnie  awoke  very  wide 
awake.  She  had  been  dreaming  about  being  stifled 
in  the  Contracting  Chamber ;  and  when  she  opened 
her  eyes  it  was  very  pleasant  to  see  that  the  sun 
was  shining  in  at  the  two  undiminished  windows  of 
her  room,  and  the  jasmin^  sprays  tapping  at  the 
glass,  as  if  to  tell  her  to  get  up.  She  arose  and 
opened  the  window,  and  looked  out  on  the  lawn, 
still  sparkling  with  dew,  and  drank  in  the  early 
fragrance  of  the  flowers,  and  looked  beyond  and  be- 
yond, over  the  shrubberies,  and  over  the  fields,  and 
over  the  woods,  and  over  the  blue  hills,  to  the  bright 
sky,  and  thought  how  wide  the  world  was. 

And  then,  as  the  breeze  brushed  a  cluster  of  climb- 
ing roses  against  her  cheek,  and  filled  the  rjoom  with 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  25 

sweet  smells,  she  thought  of  little  Fan,  and  the  one 
rose  which  had  given  her  such  delight,  and  had 
seemed  such  a  treasure  to  her. 

And  she  thought  how  rich  the  world  was,  if  one 
of  its  millions  of  flowers  could  fill  any  one's  heart 
with  such  pleasure. 

But  then  it  came  into  her  heart  how  tired  she 
had  been  of  everything,  and  what  it  was  that  made 
the  difference  between  her  and  little  Fan. 

"  It  was  Dan !"  she  said  to  herself;  "  it  was  the 
thought  of  Dan,  and  his  smiling  over  it,  that  made 
the  rose  such  a  treasure  to  little  Fan.  It  wasn't 
for  herself  she  wanted  the  flower,  but  for  Dan.  It 
was  I)an  that  made  the  rose  such  a  prize — Dan  and 
the  pains  she  had  taken  to  get  it  for  him — Dan's 
sweet  smile  and  her  poor  little  blistered  feet,"  con- 
cluded "Winnie. 

And  with  this  thought  came  back  the  recollection 
of  Maurice's  story,  and  how  the  beautiful  palace- 
chambers  grew  narrower  and  narrower  when  the 
ladies  only  used  them  for  themselves.  She  began 
to  have  a  clearer  understanding  of  the  meaning. 
But  at  the  same  time  it  became  less  and  less  clear 
to  her  how  any  one  was  to  get  out  of  the  Contract- 
ing Chamber;  or,  at  least,  how  she  could,  if  she  was 
really  in  it.  How  could  she  use  what  she  had  for 
others,  and  not  for  herself?  She  had  no  Dan  watch- 
ing for  her  at  a  garret  window,  and  ready  to  be 
pleased  with  just  one  rose.  Every  one  around  her 
had  everything  they  wanted,  and  she  could  not 
see  what  there  was  for  a  little  girl  like  her  to  do  to 
help  any  one.  She  resolved  to  ask  Maurice. 
3 


2 6  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

And  in  the  meantime  she  knelt  down  to  say  her 
prayers. 

But  as  she  began  with  "  Our  Father  which  art 
in  heaven,"  it  flashed  on  her  that  this  was  what 
Dan  had  learned  to  say  mornings  and  evenings, 
which  little  Fan  had  told  her  it  made  him  so  happy 
to  say. 

Her  busy  thoughts  wandered  away  to  the  garret 
in  the  court,  and  she  seemed  to  hear  the  feeble  voice 
of  the  sick  child,  in  his  little  bed,  saying  the  words 
with  her.  And  for  the  first  time  she  felt  how  very 
sweet  these  words  were. 

"  Our  Father,"  she  thought.  "  That  means  Dan's 
Father  and  little  Fan's,  and  mine.  Our  Father  in 
heaven.  Dan  has  a  Father  in  heaven,  and  he  knows 
it.  Perhaps  that  is  why  he  feels  heaven  is  not  very 
far  off.  Besides,  he  learned  to  sing  about  the  children 
in  heaven.  I  suppose  with  his  Father  and  the  chil- 
dren in  heaven,  Dan  feels  heaven  more  like  home 
than  the  poor  room  in  the  court,  where  his  aunt  is 
cross  sometimes,  and  his  uncle  drinks  too  much; 
and,  I  suppose,  that  makes  up  to  Dan  a  good  deal 
for  his  home  here  being  so  poor." 

Some  of  the  following  petitions  in  the  prayer 
were  not  much  clearer  to  Winnie  as  she  went  on 
than  to  little  Fan.  Yet,  somehow,  she  said  them 
differently  that  morning  from  before.  The  "  Our 
Father"  seemed  to  flow  through  them  all  like  music ; 
the  "  Our  Father,"  and  the  sound  of  poor  "  brother 
Dan's"  feeble  voice. 

But  when  she  came  to  "  Give,  us  this  day  our 
daily  bread,"  she  thought : 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  2J 

"I  suppose  Dan  really  means,  {  Give  me  my 
breakfast  and  my  dinner  to-day,'  when  he  says  that ; 
and  if  he  gets  it  he  thinks  his  Father  gives  it  him. 
But  then,"  continued  Winnie,  falling  into  perplex- 
ities, "  I  wonder  what  ne  thinks  when  he  doesn't 
get  any.  For  little  Fan  says  he  doesn't  always.  I 
wonder  if  Dan  ever  feels  puzzled,  and  thinks  his  Fa- 
ther in  heaven  has  forgotten  him.  I  don't  think  he 
can,  or  he  wouldn't  go  on  saying  it.  Perhaps  he 
thinks  it  will  all  be  made  up  to  him  in  heaven,  that 
the  things  are  being  kept  for  him  in  some  way  there. 
But  I  do  wish  very  much  auntie  would  let  me  go 
and  find  out  little  Fan,  and  take  Dan  some  nice 
things,  if  it  were  only  that  he  mayn't  get  puzzled 
and  not  feel  happy  .when  he  says  *  Our  Father.' 
But  one  thing,"  concluded  Winnie,  "  I  can  certainly 
do.  As  it  does  seem  so  very  plain  about  my  daily 
bread,  I  will  think  of  Dan  and  little  Fan  whenever 
I  say  '  Give  us  this  day,'  and,  perhaps,  God  will 
attend  more  'to  us  altogether.  Perhaps  even  one 
day  He  might  make  auntie  let  me  go  myself." 

All  these  thoughts  passed  through  Winnie's  mind 
in  much  less  time  than  you  can  read  them.  But 
she  never  dreamt  of  telling  any  one  about  them.  It 
never  occurred  to  her  that  any  one  else  had  ever 
had  anything  like  the  same  difficulties. 

Only  she  rose  from  her  knees  that  morning  with 
a  feeling  she  had  never  had  so  strongly  before — 
that  God  had  been  listening,  and  that  He  understood. 
And  that  is  very  much  for  any  one  to  learn.  We 
most  of  us  have  to  learn  it  over  and  over  again  a 
great  many  times. 


28  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

It  was  well  that  Winnie's  heart  had  been  warmed 
in  this  way,  for  whe'n  she  came  down  stairs  a  great 
chill  awaited  her. 

Mrs.  O'Brien  was  staying  in  her  own  room  to 
breakfast.  Her  Uncle  O'Brien  was  a  very  kind 
man ;  but  it  so  happened  that  he  knew  very  little 
of  the  poor  except  from  police  reports  and  statistical 
returns.  When,  therefore,  she  told  him  her  adven- 
ture with  little  Fan,  he  listened  to  her  very  pa- 
tiently until  she  came  to  poor  Dan's  breaking  his 
leg  in  going  up  the  chimney. 

Then  he  laughed,  not  at  all  unkindly,  but  in  a 
way  that  greatly  disconcerted  Winnie,  and  said : 

"  My  poor  little  philanthropist,  I  am  very  sorry 
for  the  bad  success  of  your  first  charitable  enter- 
prise ;  but  it  is  altogether  an  imposture.  The  little 
girl  got  up  her  story  very  badly.  I  should  think 
she  must  have  inherited  it  from  her  grandmother. 
No  little  boys  do  go  up  chimneys  in  these  days. 
It  is  against  the  law,  and  people  use  sweeping  ma- 
chines instead.  You  need  trouble  yourself  no  more 
about  little  Fan.  I  have  no  doubt  when  she  got 
home  she  had  as  good  a  supper  as  you,  and  a  laugh 
at  the  soft-hearted  little  lady  to  season  it.  And  I 
have  no  doubt,  if  Rosalie  had  not  come  in  time, 
she  would  have  contrived  to  take  home  with  her 
some  property  of  yours  much  more  valuable  than 
a  rose  or  a  rosebud." 

And  Mr.  O'Brien  patted  Winnie's  cheek,  and 
took  up  his  newspaper  again,  totally  unconscious 
that  he  had  driven  his  chariot- wheels  of  laws  and 
facts  quite  through  the  middle  of  Winnie's  heart. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  2g 

Unfortunately,  the  recent  discoveries  about  the 
continued  employment  of  poor  little  sweep-boys 
had  not  then  been  disclosed,  so  that  Winnie  had 
nothing  to  bring  against  her  uncle's  facts  but  her 
own  convictions.  Not  -that  she  was  in  the  least 
shaken  herself.  She  was  only  hopeless  about  con- 
vincing him. 

So  she  remained  quite  silent,  until  a  little  sup- 
pressed sob  aroused  Mr.  O'Brien's  attention,  and, 
looking  up  he  saw  that  Winnie  was  vainly  endeav- 
oring to  swallow  her  tears. 

"  Why,  my  little  maiclen,"  he  said  very  gently, 
"  you  must  not  take  things  so  to  heart.  There 
always  were  naughty  little  beggar  girls  in  the 
world,  and  it  is  only  because  this  is  the  first  time 
you  have  seen  one  that  it  troubles  y9u.  You  must 
forget  it,  and  go  and  play  like  a  good  little  girl, 
and  think  no  more  about  it." 

Winnie  could  only  moan  out : 

"  Oh,  uncle,  you  never  saw  little  Fan  !"  but  she 
resolved  never  to  mention  little  Fan's  name  again 
until  she  saw  Maurice.  Then  she  turned  from  the 
table  and  crept  out  of  the  room,  and,  seating  her- 
self on  the  window-steps  outside,  took  the  kitten 
on  her  knee,  an^  discoursed  to  her  at  large  about 
her  troubles,  as  oeing  the  most  sympathizing  per- 
son at  present  within  reach. 

As  she  sat  there,  out  of  sight,  Mrs.  O'Brien  came 
down,  and  while  her  husband  was  finishing  his 
breakfast,  she  told  him,  by  way  of  amusing  him, 
Winnie's  precocious  idea  of  her  being  "  blase,  like 
Mr.  Vernon."  ;  \ 

3* 


3o  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

At  first  Mr.  O'Brien  laughed,  but  then  he  became 
very  grave,  and  said : 

"  My  dear,  I  am  afraid  we  are  not  managing  that 
child  well.  She  is  altogether  too  excitable  and 
self-conscious.  She  has  not  enough  of  buoyancy 
and  life  about  her.  -  This  morning  she  was  actually 
quite  sobbing  because  I  told  her  that  little  vaga- 
bond was  an  impostor.  And  I  don't  like  children 
meditating  about  themselves,  and  thinking  what 
they  feel.  .  A  healthy  child  ought  to  be  as  uncon- 
scious of  its  feelings  as  a  kitten.  It  is  a  terrible 
thing  for  a  child  to  lose  so  early  the  simple  uncon- 
scious enjoyment  of  life,  and  to  begin  analyzing 
her  sensations  and  sentiments  like  a  little  German 
philosopher.  The  truth  is,  Winnie  has  been  too 
much  with  us.  She  wants  children  for  her  com- 
panions, and  I  think  we  had  better  send  her  to 
school." 

At  this  point,  much  as  her  curiosity  was  excited, 
Winnie's  sense  of  honor  was  aroused  as  to  the 
impropriety  of  her  listening  any  further  to  a  dis- 
cussion about  herself,  and  she  crept  back  into 
the  room. 

It  so  happened  that  morning,  that  when  Winnie 
went  to  Rosalie  for  her  French  ftsson,  she  found 
her  bathed  in  tears  with  a  letter  in  her  hand. 

"  See,  Mademoiselle  Yini  !"  she  exclaimed,  "  here 
are  troubles  indeed  to  make  any  heart  bleed.  While 
you  have  been  shedding  vain  tears  over  that  little 
vagrant,  here  are  my  people  suffering,  starving, 
dying — the 'houses  of  my  relations  swept  away  by 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  3 1 

the  flood — my  grandfather  driven  from  his  house, 
driven  from  prosperity  and  ease  to  stretch  out  his 
venerable  hands  for  a  morsel  of  bread — my  sister 
in  the  dead  of  night  without  a  moment  to  make 
her  toilette,  compelled  to'  fly  with  her  young  infant, 
and  then  scarcely  escaping  destruction.  And  you, 
mademoiselle,  are  enraged  on  account  of  that  little 
deceiver  against  me ;  me  who  love  you,  me  who 
am  suffering  such  extremities  !" 

But  for  the  exhortation  at  the  close,  Winnie 
would  have  been  greatly  touched  by  Rosalie's 
narration.  But  she  could  not  see  why,  if  it  was 
right  for  Rosalie  to  weep  over  the  sufferings  of 
little  French  children,  it  was  wrong  for  her  to  feel 
for  little  Fan,  and  accordingly  she  began  to  say  her 
lessons  rather  sullenly. 

Mademoiselle,  however,  was  not  prepared  to  let 
fthe  matter  rest  there. 

"  Little  ungrateful  one  !"  she  murmured  through 
her  tears,  "  this  little  beggar  stranger  and  her  pre- 
tended woes  are  more  to  thee  than  all  the  sorrows 
of  thy  poor  Rosalie.  But  it  is  ever  thus !  The 
false  sentiment  expels  the  true  !" 

The  accusation  of  falseness  was  more  than  Win- 
nie could  stand. 

"  I  am  not  false,  Rosalie,"  she  said,  "  it  is  you 
who  are  false  to  say  so." 

"  Proceed  with  your  studies,  mademoiselle,"  re- 
torted Rosalie,  "  madame  shall  hear  your  accusa- 
tions." 

But  as  the  lesson  proceeded,  Winnie's  own  con- 
science pricked  her  for  her  want  of  sympathy,  and 


3  2  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

after  a  little  while,  when  she  perceived  that  Rosa- 
lie's voice  was  really  faltering,  and,  looking  up, 
saw  that  her  tears  were  really  continuing  to  flow 
silently,  she  said : 

"  Rosalie,  I  am  sorry  for  your  old  grandfather, 
and  the  little  children  who  had  to1  escape  in  the 
night  with  nothing  on.  I  am,  indeed." 

Happily  there  was  something  in  "Winnie's  tone 
which  touched  Rosalie's  heart,  and  brought  her 
down  from  her  high  judicial  seat ;  she  was  really 
fond  of  Winnie,  in  her  own  way,  and  she  was  too 
really  in  trouble  to  reject  any  true  sympathy,  and 
thus  she  poured  out  into  Winnie's  ears  the  story 
of  an  inundation  in  the  south  of  France,  which 
had  reduced  many  people  from  prosperity  to  pov- 
erty, and  among  others  some  of  Rosalie's  relations. 

"  Would  it  help  them  to  have  some  English 
money  to  buy  back  the  things  they  have  lost  ?"= 
asked  Winnie  at  length.  "  I  have  a  sovereign  in 
my  box  up  stairs,"  she  added  with  some  hesitation 
(for  she  had  already  devised  a  hundred  ways  of 
spending  this  for  Dan  and  little  Fan,  whenever 
they  could  be  found,  and  it  would  have  seemed 
like  relinquishing  her  belief  in  Dan's  existence  to 
appropriate  the  whole  of  it  otherwise,  yet  this  was 
a  charge  on  the  property  which  she  certainly  could 
not  venture  to  mention  to  Rosalie) ;  "I  have  a 
sovereign  up  stairs,  Rosalie  ;  I  have  promised  half 
of  it  in  my  own  mind  to  somebody,  but  the  rest  I 
should  be  so  glad  if  you  would  take.  It  might  buy 
something  to  wrap  up  your  sister's  baby  in." 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  O'Brien  entered,  and  see- 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  33 

ing  Rosalie  in  tears,  and  yet  at  the  .same  time  evi- 
dently in  such  very  friendly  relations  with  Winnie, 
she  asked  what  was  the  matter.  Rosalie  went 
into  raptures  over  the  generous  heart  of  that 
charming  child,  and  in  a  torrent  of  eloquent 
French,  poured  out  a  forcible  narrative  of  the 
inundation,  and  the  miseries  it  had  caused. 

Mrs.  O'Brien  was  much  affected.  Her  own  heart 
was  always  kind  and  impressible,  and  now  she 
caught  some  of  Winnie's  enthusiasm,  and  was 
roused  to  unusual  energy.  She  was  also  very  glad 
to  be  able  to  enter  into  her  niece's  charitable  plans 
on  this  occasion.  She  thought  it  might  prevent 
the  child!s  heart  being  chilled  by  the  failure  of  her 
projects  about  little  Fan. 

She  was  therefore  induced,  as  the  case  was  urgent 
(very  contrary  to  her  usual  habits),  to  set  forth  that 
very  afternoon  to  collect  subscriptions  among  her 
acquaintances.  Immediately  after  luncheon,  the 
carriage  was  at  the  door,  and  Winnie  accompanied 
her  aunt,  in  the  highest  spirits. 

Their  success  was  considerable,  although  varied, 
and,  in  many  cases,  contrary  to  Winnie's  expecta- 
tions ;  the  people  who  were  tenderest  in  their 
lamentations  frequently  to  her  surprise  finding  they 
had  the  least  to  spare ;  and  those,  on  the  other 
hand,  who  at  first  excited  her  indignation  by  their 
cool  way  of  investigating  the  facts,  not  seldom 
ending  in  contributing  liberally. 

There  was  one  house  especially  where  Winnie 
was  greatly  perplexed. 

It  belonged  to  an  elderly  single  lady,  and  was 


34  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

furnished  with  the  most  elaborate  costliness  and 
care,  although  not  in  a  way  Winnie  admired. 

The  handsome  ornaments  were  under  so  many 
glass  cases,  that  she  thought  the  drawing-room 
looked  like  a  china  shop ;  and  the  rich  furniture 
and  brilliant  carpets  were  so  carefully  covered,  that 
she  felt  it  was  like  stepping  over  flower-beds  to 
walk  about  the  rooms,  which  feeling  was  increased 
to  a  nervous  dread  when  Miss  Dalton  in  a  caress- 
ing voice,  as  if  she  was  addressing  a  baby,  begged 
the  dear  little  girl  to  excuse  her,  but  her  dress  was 
on  the  point  of  upsetting  a  china  vase. 

"  It  had  been  her  grandmother's,"  Miss  Dalton 
remarked,  and  what  made  her  a  little  anxious  about 
it  was,  that  very  morning  her  poor  poodle  Dandy 
had  broken  the  fellow  to  it,  and  there  was  not 
another  like  it  in  England,  except  at  her  friend  the 
Marquis  of  Carabbas. 

She  then  proceeded  to  tell  so  many  remarkable 
anecdotes  about  her  doings  and  belongings,  illus- 
trated by  the  names  of  so  many  distinguished 
people,  that  Winnie  became  profoundly  impressed 
with  her  importance,  and  began  to  entertain  very 
large  hopes  as  to  her  subscription.  So  that  she 
was  proportionately  disappointed  when,  on  Mrs. 
O'Brien's  laying  the  case  before  her,  Miss  Dalton 
replied  that  she  was  really  very  sorry,  but  that  she 
had  a  very  strong  feeling  against  English  people 
withdrawing  the  help  wanted  by  our  own  poor, 
and  sending  it  to  the  other  end  of  the  earth.  Mr. 
Dickens'  very  clever  hit  about  Borrioboula  Gha 
had  long  since  convinced  her  of  that.  Although 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  35 

she  must  confess,  that  even  at  home,  she  had  seen 
so  much  ingratitude,  and  heard  of  so  much  im- 
posture, and  so  much  mismanagement  of  public 
money,  and  had  so  constantly  found  that  people 
brought  their  troubles  on  themselves ;  that  she 
found  it  more  and  more  difficult  to  contribute  to 
anything  without  feeling  one  might  be  doing  more 
harm  than  good.  She  quite  appreciated  dear  Mrs. 
O'Brien's  benevolent  feelings  in  undertaking  so 
unpleasant  an  office,  and  she  was  sure  Mrs.  O'Brien 
would  also  understand  her  motives. 

In  the  window,  while  this  conversation  was  going 
on,  a  plain-looking  person  in  a  widow's  cap  was 
sitting  writing.  They  had  not  been  introduced  to 
her,  and  Winnie  had  concluded  that  she  was  some 
kind  of  servant. 

As  they  left  the  room,  however,  she  rose,  and 
accompanying  them  to  the  door,  said,  in  a  humble 
and  timid  way,  as  she  took  out  her  purse  : 

"  If  you  would  not  think  it  a  liberty,  I  should 
like  to  help  a  little.  I  lived  some  time  in  that  part 
of  France  long  ago,  and  I  saw  what  misery  such  an 
inundation  caused." 

And  as  she  put  a  few  shillings  in  Mrs.  O'Brien's 
hand,  and  Winnie  looked  up  in  her  face  and  saw 
how  the  kind  eyes  lighted  up  the  thin,  worn-look- 
ing countenance,,  she  quite  loved  her.  And  for  a 
long  time  afterwards  when  she  read  the  story  of 
the  widow's  mite,  she  always  pictured  to  herself 
the  widow's  face  as  like  that  of  the  poor  lady  who 
was  Miss  Dalton's  companion. 

That  visit  was  their  last,  and  when  they  got 


36  WINIFRED  BERTRAM. 

into  the   carriage  again  Winnie  fell  into  a  long 
meditation. 

'  "  What  are  you  thinking  of  ?"  asked  Mrs.  O'Brien 
at  length,  after  watching  for  some  time  the  thought- 
ful, little  face. 

"  I  was  wondering  whether  Miss  Dalton  had  got 
into  the  Contracting  Chamber,"  she  said. 

Mrs.  O'Brien  of  course  did  not  understand  what 
the  Contracting  Chamber  was.  And  when  she 
heard  Winnie's -version  of  Maurice's  story,  she  ob- 
served that : 

Maurice  was  very  good,  but  he  had  very  curious 
ideas.  She  was  quite  sure,  however,  that  he  did 
not  mean  Winnie  to  apply  his  stories  to  other 
people  in  that  way,  especially  to  grown  up  people. 

"  Yes,"  said  Winnie  coloring,  "  I  remember  Mau- 
rice said  it  was  easy  enough  to  see  the  other  people's 
houses  contracting  from  outside,  but  that  was  no 
help  to  any  one  about  her  own." 

But  between  her  aunt's  injunctions  not  to  apply 
the  story  to  other  people,  and  her  uncle's  objection 
to  her  making  observations  about  herself,  Winnie 
felt  rather  bewildered.  She  would  ask  Maurice 
when  he  came  again. 


CHAPTER  II. 


OW  many  things  were  accumulating  for 
Winnie  to  ask  Maurice  about,  and  how 
long  it  seemed  before  he  came  ! 

Meantime  she  'asked  Rosalie-  what 
her  aunt  could  mean  by  Maurice  having  "  curious 
ideas."  The  inundation,  and  the  subscriptions  in 
aid  of  the  sufferers,  which  had  on  the  whole  been 
very  considerable,  had  drawn  Rosalie  and  Winnie 
into  a  far  more  intimate  alliance.  Rosalie  thought 
madame  must  mean  that  Mr.  Maurice  was  going 
by  his  own  choice  to  bury  himself  in  a  parsonage 
in  one  of  the  lowest  parts  of  London — a  place 
(Rosalie  had  heard),  near  which  no  cabs  approached 
within  a  mile,  where  carriages  were  never  seen,  into 
the  recesses  of  which  the  police  even  dared  not 
always  venture ;  where,  in  short,  there  was  no  life, 
and  nothing  worth  living  for. 

"Ah,  mademoiselle,"  she  observed,  "your  Lon- 
don is  sad  enough  even  by  your  queen's  palaces. 
The  people  look  like  mutes  at  a  funeral  when  they 
4  (37) 


38  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

are  going  to  the  opera.  There  are  no  fetes,  no 
flowers,  no  gaiety,  no  sunshine.  What  must  it  be 
then  in  those  savage  retreats  where  Mr.  Maurice 
prepares  to  bury  himself !  I  shudder  to  tjiink  of  it." 

"But,"  said  Winnie,  "the  poor  people  must  live 
there,  and  Maurice  is  going  to  try  and  help  them." 

"  Ah,«my  poor  child,  you  cannot  understand.  In 
my  country  it  is  the  monks  and  nuns  who  thus  im- 
molate themselves.  But  Mr.  Maurice  proposes,  not 
to  institute  a  religious  house  in  those  dreary  regions, 
which  one  could  comprehend — religion  exacts  sacri- 
fices— but  to  make  a  home  ;  a  home  where  one  day 
he  may  doubtless  bring  some  beautiful  young  lady, 
in  Brussels  point  and  white  glace,  as  his  bride. 
But,"  she  continued,  "you  English  are,  without 
doubt,  a  strange  people,  you  weep  little  and  you 
laugh  little ;  but  you  feel,  you  give,  you  sacrifice. 
I  suppose  in  your  heavy  atmosphere  everything 
becomes  so  serious  that  there  is  little  difference  be- 
tween your  amusements  and  your  martyrdoms,  be- 
tween a  wedding  and  a  religious  profession." 

How  long  Winnie's  wishes  made  the  delay  in 
Maurice's  return  !  For  the  last  five  years  she  had 
seen  little  of  her  brother.  He  had  been  at  Oxford, 
or  travelling,  and  since  his  ordination  he  had  been 
hard  at  work  in  a  curacy  in  one  of  the  large  manu- 
facturing towns.  And  five  years  ago  Winnie  had 
been  little  more  than  a  plaything  for  him.  Now 
she  began  to  feel  he  was  her  most  intimate  friend. 
She  felt  he  quite  understood  her,  and  she  felt  she 
did  not  half  understand  him,  which  is  an  excellent 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


39 


foundation  for  friendship.  So  she  watched  for  him 
very  eagerly;  not  sometimes  without  a  little  fear 
that  the  beautiful  young  lady  in  Brussels  point  and 
white  glace,  whom  Rosalie's  imagination  had  pic- 
tured, might  have  appeared,  and  be  detaining  him. 

Meantime  she  very  often  went  to  the  rock-gar- 
den, and  looked  in  a  wistful  way  through  the  bars 
of  the  little  gate  where  she  had  wished  Maurice 
good-bye,  and  through  which  Rosalie  had  ruth- 
lessly chased  little  Fan. 

Not  that  she  hoped  ever  to  see  Fan  appear  again. 
Her  dismissal  had  been  much  too  abrupt  and  rough, 
for  Winnie  to  hope  ever  to  see  the  little  thin  white 
face  and  the  large  questioning  eyes  peeping  through 
those  bars  again. 

But  there  is  a  strange  attraction  about  the  place 
where  anything  dear  to  us  has  vanished;  and  so, 
without  questioning  why,  Winnie  did  very  often 
climb  on  the  marble  seat  by  the  fountain,  and  look 
over  into  the  world  outside. 

One  evening  when  she  was  thus  engaged,  when 
there  was  a  large  dinner-party  in  the  house,  and 
she  was  in  the  state  of  freedom  she  enjoyed  on  such 
occasions,  when  every  one  was  too  busy  to  attend  to 
her,  she  saw  a  figure  far  down  the  hill  coming  up 
the  little  path  across  the  waste  ground. 

It  came  on  with  long  strides,  and  in  an  instant 
she  knew  it  was  Maurice.  She  was  at  the  gate,  she 
had  undone  the  fastenings,  she  had  rushed  down 
the  hill  to  meet  him,  in  a  minute. 

" Softly,  softly !  little  sister!"  he  said  as  he  took 
her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her.  "At  that  pace,  it 


- 


4o  VHN1FRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

is  no  wonder  you  should  have  so  soon  come  to  the 
end  of  the  world." 

"Oh,  Maurice,  but  I  have-wo*/"  she  exclaimed. 
"I  have  not  come  to  the  end  of  anything.  So 
many  things  have  happened  since  you  were  here. 
And  I  have  no  end  of  things  to  ask  you.  And 
there  is  a  great  dinner  party,  and  they  have  begun, 
and  no  one  expects  you,  so  we  may  stay  in  the  gar- 
den as  long  as  we  like.  And  you  will  tell  me  all . 
about  the  Five  Worlds,  and  the  Contracting  Cham- 
ber, and  everything.  And  you  will  find  out  all 
about  little  Fan,  and  whether  the  chimney-sweep 
boys  do  go  up  the  chimneys  now,  and  how  it  was 
Dan  broke  his  leg." 

All  which  incoherent  information,  conveyed  in 
a  breathless  manner  before  they  reached  the  garden 
gate,  left  Maurice,  figuratively  speaking,  in  as 
breathless  a  state  as  Winnie  herself. 

The  first  thing  to  be  explained  was,  of  course, 
about  little  Fan.  And  to  Winnie's  immeasurable 
delight,  she  made  Maurice  believe  both  in  Dan  and 
little  Fan. 

Whether  it  was  that  the  actual  presence  of  the 
scene  where  little  Fan  had  appeared — of  the  rose- 
tree  from  which  she  had  modestly  gathered  her 
one  rose,  and  where  the  roses  which  had  been  buds 
when  she  was  there  were  now  opening  "so  happy 
like"  among  the  green  leaves — of  the  gate  through 
which  the  little  face  had  peeped — of  the  stone  seat 
from  which  the  little  plaintive  voice  had  first  been 
heard — whether  it  was  that  the  sight  of  these 
things  gave  a  reality  to  Winnie's  narrative,  or  that 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  ^i 

Maurice  was  more  naturally  credulous  than  other 
people,  certain  it  is  that  he  did  believe  that  little 
Fan  was  no  impostor,  and  that  there  was  such  a 
person  as  Dan. 

This  was  a  great  point  for  Winnie  to  have  gained. 
But  the  rest  was  even  greater.  Maurice  admitted 
very  sorrowfully  that  little  chimney-sweeps  were 
sometimes,  even  now,  in  spite  of  the  law,  sent  up 
the  old  chimneys  which  the  machines  could  not 
easily  reach,  and  that  their  poor  little  limbs  were 
often  sorely  bruised  and  grazed,  and  that  a  broken 
leg  was  not  an  impossible  accident  in  such  climbing. 

Winnie  was  so  delighted  at  this  confirmation  of 
little  Fan's  truth,  that  she  did  not  think  at  the  mo- 
ment of  mourning  for  the  poor  ill-used  little  sweeps, 
and  Maurice  had  some  difficulty  in  restraining  her 
from  instantly  hastening  to  get  dressed  and  go  to 
the  dinner-table  to  tell  her  Uncle  O'Brien. 

"  Uncle  ought  to  know,"  she  said,  "  he  may  be 
telling  some  one  else  that,  little  Fan  is  an  impostor ! 
And  it  must  be  dessert-time,  and  I  would  creep  in 
by  his  side  and  whisper,  and  I  am  sure  he  would 
not  be  displeased." 

But  Maurice  suggested  quite  a  different  line  of 
action,  which  delighted  Winnie  still  more.  He  said 
he  would  try  to  find  out  little  Fan,  and  that  he  had 
great  hope  of  succeeding.  Her  home  must,  he 
thought,  be  in  some  part  of  London  not  very  far 
off.  He  could  easily  find  out  the  ragged  schools  in 
any  district,  and  the  church  with  the  high  tower 
opposite  the  court  would  be  a  further  guide. 

Maurice  promised,  therefore,  to  set  about  the  in- 
4* 


42  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

quiry  at  once.  And  he  counselled  Winnie  in  the 
meantime  to  keep  silence  on  the  subject ;  his  believ- 
ing the  story  could  not  prove  to  any  one  else,  he 
said,  that  it  was  true;  and  the  triumph  of  truth 
would  be  so  much  greater  if  one  day  she  could 
quietly  tell  her  uncle  and  aunt  that  little  Fan  had 
been  found  and  had  proved  as  poor  and  as  good  as 
Winnie  believed  her  to  be. 

This  momentous  question  being  settled  Winnie 
reverted  to  her  minor  difficulties  about  the  Con- 
tracting Chamber. 

"  Maurice,"  she  said,  "  I  want  to  know  how  any 
one  ever  got  out  of  that  dreadful  chamber?" 

"  No  one  ever  did,"  he  replied. 

"  Then  was  there  no  way  of  making  it  grow  wide 
again?"  asked  Winnie  anxiously,  "  when  once  it 
had  begun  to  contract,  or  at  least  of  stopping  it 
from  getting  any  narrower  ?" 

"  There  was  nothing  said  about  it  in  the  book," 
he  said. 

"  What  book  was  it  ?"  she  inquired. 

"  It  was  a  book  called  the  Book  which  shows 
how  things  went  wrong,"  replied  Maurice.  "  It  is 
a  very  large  book  and  very  old,  and  in  I  do  not 
know  how  many  volumes.  And  it  is  not  finished 
yet.  People -are  always  adding  sequels  and  new  se- 
ries to  it." 

"  A  very  dull  book,  I  should  think,"  observed 
Winnie. 

"  Rather,"  he  replied,  "  without  the  other  Book, 
which  ought  always  to  be  read  with  it." 

"  What  is  that,"  she  asked. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  43 

"  It  is  the  Book  which  shows  how  things  are  set 
right,"  he  replied  in  a  gentle,  grave  voice. 

"  Is  that  book  finished  yet?"  Winnie  inquired. 

"  Yes,  a  long  time  ago,"  he  replied,  "  but  it  is  a 
strange  thing  no  one  ever  finished  reading  it." 

"  I  wonder  at  that,"  said  Winnie.  "  I  think  it 
must  be  interesting.  I  should  like  to  see  it." 

"  It  is  the  most  interesting  thing  in  the  world  to 
people  who  understand  it,"  said  Maurice.  "  The 
curious  thing  is  that  a  great  many  people  think 
they  have  read  it  through  and  finished  it.  But 
when  (especially  after  reading  another  chapter  of 
the  other  Book)  they  take  it  up  again,  they  find 
they  were  mistaken,  for  there  it  is  quite  new  again, 
with  things  in  it  they  never  saw  before." 

"  Two  very  strange  books,"  said  Winnie  musing, 
"  the  Book  that  never  is  finished  writing,  and  the 
Book  that  never  is  finished  reading." 

But  while  she  was  thinking  about  it,  voices  were 
heard  approaching.  Mrs.  O'Brien  was  coming  to 
show  her  guests  the  rock  garden,  so  that  Winnie 
had  no  time  to  ask  Maurice  about  the  Five  Worlds. 


Maurice  was  obliged  to  go  away  again  very  early 
the  next  morning ;  and  it  would  probably,  he  said, 
be  some  little  time  before  he  could  come  back.  So 
it  happened  that  Winnie  was  left  for  days  to  her 
own  meditations  so  as  to  the  Two  Books  and  the 
Five  Worlds.  For,  like  so  many  children,  it  never 
occurred  to  her  voluntarily  to  unlock  the  little  world 
within  to  any  one.  She  understood  it  indeed  s«  lit- 


44  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

tie  herself  that  it  would  have  "been  impossible  for 
her  to  make  any  one  else  understand  it.  The  germs 
and  shapeless  beginnings  of  all  kinds  of  unknown 
things  lay  so  strangely  scattered  about  in  the  early 
twilight  of  that  little  chaotic  world  that  it  was  not 
in  Winnie's  power  to  explain  half  of  them  to  her- 
self, much  less  to  others,  unless  they  brought  the 
clue  with  them. 

Besides, '  since  she  had  overheard  her  uncle 
O'Brien  so  strongly  disapproving  of  little  girls 
thinking  about  their  own  feelings,  she  had  felt  it 
almost  wrong  to  have  any  inward  perplexities  at 
all.  Yet,  try  as  she  might,  she  could  by  no  means 
bring  herself  to  the  "  beautiful  unconsciousness" 
of  the  kitten.  Those  troublesome  ideas  of  right  and 
wrong  which  never  seemed  to  beset  pussy,  would 
come  back  so  pertinaciously  to  Winnie,  do  what 
she  would  to  banish  them. 

It  happened  also  that  during  these  days,  unusually 
many  things  came  to  waken  up  these  uneasy  busy 
thoughts. 

Mr.  O'Brien  had  invited  a  little  girl  to  stay  with 
Winnie,  thinking  it  would  be  good  for  her  to  be 
thrown  more  with  other  children,  and  that  little 
Lucy  Avenel  was  an  unexceptionable  little  friend. 

Now  it  cannot  be  denied  that  among  children  as 
among  grown-up  people,  friendships  can  seldom  be 
construe  d  in  this  way,  from  outside,  however  con- 
venient it  might  be.  Moreover  Lucy's  tastes  and 
subjects  of  interest  and  Winnie's  were  quite  differ- 
ent, while  at  the  same  time  Lucy  was  a  child  mod- 
eled after  Rosalie's  own  heart.  "  A  child,"  she 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


45 


said,  "  that  never  had  a  torn  frock  nor  dishevelled 
hair,  a  little  being  whose  toilette  it  was  a  luxury  to 
make,  and  who  was  as  perfectly  in  order  at  the  end 
of  an  evening  as  at  the  beginning."  •  It  was  not  in 
human  nature,  therefore,  not  to  institute  compari- 
sons, with  the  materials  for  such  striking  antitheses 
continually  at  hand. 

"  Mademoiselle  Wini,"  Rosalie  would  exclaim, 
"  observe  this  little  model !  She  stands  as  still  as  a 
stone  while  I  arrange  her  tresses  in  any  device  I 
like.  She  rejoices  in  it,  that  wise  little  one !  Every 
evening  I  can  vary  her  style.  Yesterday,  severe 
and  simple  as  a  Greek  statue ;  to-day  graceful,  flow- 
ing, romanesque  as  a  heroine  of  your  Sir  Walter ; 
to-morrow,  in  countless  little  luxuriant  curls  like  a 
little  court-lady  of  the  Grand  Monarque.  "With  en- 
thusiasm for  one's  art,  and  with  a  subject,  what  may 
not  one  accomplish  ?  And  the  charming  child  all 
the  time  motionless  as  the  waxen  model  of  an  artist 
in  hair  1" 

Or  at  the  end  of  the  evening : 

"  See  mademoiselle,  not  a  hair  out  of  place,  not  a 
ribbon  disordered,  whilst  you ! — how  can  I  describe 
it>— disorganized — demoralized — a  chaos !" 

Thus  the  comparisons  went  on,  at  first  to  Win- 
nie's amusement,  until  Mademoiselle  Rosalie,  ag- 
grieved at  the  small  efiect  of  her  admonitions,  grew 
more  serious,  and.  Winnie  was  provoked  to  con- 
temptuous rejoinders;  such  as,  that  she  had  no  am- 
bition to  be  like  a  barber's  block. 

More  serious  replies  from  Rosalie;  mournful 
prophecies  that  whatever  Mademoiselle  Winnie 

I 


46  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

thought  in  the  bloom  of  her  young  years,  she 
would  remember  her  faithful  Rosalie,  alas,  too  late ! 
Depressing  generalizations  as  to  the  universal  fate 
of  people  who  cannot  bear  to  hear  other  people 
praised,  and  who  are  too  self-opinionated  to  learn  in 
their  y«outh ; — until  one  evening,  Winnie,  distracted 
between  her  indignation  at  Rosalie's  injurious  com- 
parisons and  her  anxiety  to  say  nothing  fierce  to 
her  guest,  subsided  into  silence ;  when  Rosalie,  un- 
able to  let  slip  such  an  opportunity  for  a  moral, 
whispered,  "  Ah !  ah !  Fie  then !  the  poor  little  one 
is  jealous.  Away  mademoiselle,  with  passions  so 
dark,  so  destructive." 

Then  unable  to  stand  any  more,  Winnie  wrenched 
herself  from  the  hands  of  her  unconscious  tormentor, 
and  decisively  finishing  her  own  toilette,  rushed  into 
bed  with  the  feeling  that  she  was  undoubtedly  very 
naughty,  yet  that  the  whole  system  of  things  was 
terribly  against  her,  so  that  naughtiness  seemed  a 
kind  of  fate. 

At  length  the  week  ended,  and  Lucy's  visit ;  and 
Mrs.  O'Brien,  knowing  nothing  of  this  secret  drama, 
wondered  that  Winnie  did  not  seem  more  sorry  to 
part  with  her  little  friend. 

Rosalie's  accusation,  however,  sank  deeper  than 
she  meant  into  Winnie's  heart. 

Was  it  indeed  true  that  she  was  jealous?  Such 
a  mean,  ungenerous  fault,  Winnie  thought.  Yet 
it  certainly  did  seem  like  it  when  it  made  her  so 
vexed  to  hear  another  little  girl  praised. 

Certainly  she  must  be  in  the  Contracting  Cham- 
ber, and  it  must  already  have  got  very  narrow 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  47 

and  stifling,  for  her  to  have  such  petty,  .narrow 
feelings. 

What  was  she  to  do  ? 

It  seemed  to  her  she  could  herself  easily  add 
another  chapter  to  Maurice's  Book  about  things  go- 
ing wrong. 

So  Sunday  came;  and  Winnie  went  to  church 
with  her  aunt  and  uncle.  It  had  not  generally 
occurred  to  Winnie  that  sermons  were  things  she 
had  anything  to  do  with  except  to  sit  as  still  as  she 
could  during  the  process,  an  achievement  in  which 
she  generally  assisted  herself  by  counting  the  leaves 
on  the  trees  outside,  or  by  calculating  how  much 
money  she  would  probably  have  accumulated  by 
Christmas,  and  what  presents  she  would  buy  with 
them,  or -by  other  abstruse  arithmetical  processes, 
varied  with  practical  reflections  as  to  how  she  would 
not  bring  up  her  own  little  girls,  illustrated  from  the 
educational  methods  of  Mademoiselle  Rosalie,  like 
the  examples  of  bad  grammar  in  Noel  and  Chapsal. 

To-day,  however,  there  was  a  new  clergyman; 
and  he  had  a  deep  sonorous  voice,  and  his  text 
was: 

"  The  way  of  transgressors  is  hard?*  which  seemed 
to  Winnie  so  remarkably  applicable  to  her  own  re- 
cent history,  that  she  was  constrained  to  listen. 
And  exceedingly  disturbed  she  was  by  that  sermon. 
The  clergyman  showed  so  very  plainly  and  power- 
fully the  misery  of  doing  wrong,  and  led  on  the 
people  whose  wrong-doings  he  described  to  such 
very  terrible  ends  that,  Winnie  could  not  take  her 
eyes  off  his  face.  And  when  the  service  was  fin- 


48  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

islied  she  drove  -home  from  church  in  a  silence  very 
unusual  with  her,  for  she  felt  that,  perhaps  after  all, 
Rosalie  was  right  in  her  worst  accusations  and 
gloomiest  prophecies,  and  that  she  was  going  along 
ta  very  hard  way  to  a  very  dark  end  indeed.  And 
what  was  worst,  she  could  see  no  way  out  of  it 
at  all. 

The  sermon,  Winnie  thought,  was  plainly  a 
chapter  out  of  the  Book  that  showed  how  things 
went  wrong.  She  wished  very  much  some  one 
would  come  and  preach  a  sermon  out  of  the  Book 
which  shows  how  "things  are  set  right. 

She  remained  very  quiet  all  the  day,  but  in  the 
evening  twilight,  when  she  was  left  alone  with  Mrs. 
O'Brien,  the  weight  became  too  great  for  her  little 
heart  to  bear,  and  drawing  close  to  her  aunt,  on  the 
sofa  in 'the  inner  drawing-room,  she  said : 

"  Auntie,  Rosalie  says  I  am  jealous.  And  I  am 
dreadfully  afraid  I  am.  She  used  to  make  me  so 
angry  by  her  constantly  praising  Lucy.  But  oh, 
auntie,  how  am  I  to  help  it  ?" 

Mrs.  O'Brien  tried  most  gently  to  soothe  her,  for 
Winnie's  tears  began  to  flow  very  fast.  She  assured 
her  she  did  not  believe  she  had  meant  any  harm ; 
but  that  if  she  had,  she  must  be  a  dear  good  little 
girl  and  try  and  not  do  it  again.  Neither  of  which 
consolatory  remarks  at  all  comforted  Winnie.  For, 
in  the  first  place,  she  felt  sure  she  had  meant  harm, 
at  least  that  she  had  felt  so  angry  she  scarcely  knew 
what  she  might  not  have  done.  And  in  the  second 
place,  how  not  to  do  so  any  more  was  exactly  what 
she  could  not  find  out. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  ^ 

So  she  was  thrown  back  on  herself,  and  on  the 
longing  to  see  Maurice. 

However,  Mrs.  O'Brien's  kindness  comforted  the 
little  girl,  if  her  words  did  not,  and  in  a  little 
while  she  fell  asleep  with  her  head  on  her  aunt's 
shoulder. 

She  was  awakened  by  hearing  her  uncle's  voice 
say: 

"  Quite  morbid !  a  child  of  her  age !  A  most 
unnatural  development  of  conscience !  This  will 
never  do." 

Then  Winnie  opened  her  eyes  wide,  having  a  con- 
sciousness that  they  were  talking  about  her. 

There  was  a  kind  of  pitying  tenderness  in  her 
uncle's  manner  to  her  which  touched  her  very 
much,  and  yet  made  her  feel  very  uncomfortable. 
She  felt,  as  if  they  thought  something  was  the 
matter  with  her,  and  whether  it  was  illness  or 
naughtiness  she  could  not  make  out ;  so  that  she 
was  not  sorry  when  her  aunt  said  that  as  she  had 
been  rather  agitated,  she  had  better  go  to  bed  early, 
and  go  to  sleep  as  fast  as  possible. 

Opposite  Winnie's  bed  two  little  walnut-wood 
bookshelves  were  suspended  against  the  wall. 
They  contained  her  little  library.  All  the  books 
were  presents  ;  and  Winnie  liked  as  she  lay  in  bed 
to  read  over  their  names,  and  think  about  the 
people  who  had  given  them  to  her,  and  about  the 
happy  birthdays  they  recalled. 

On  the  top  of  these  shelves  lay  one  small  book, 
not  standing  upright  like  the  others,  but  laid  down 
5 


5o  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

by  itself.  It  was  bound  in  purple  morocco,  and 
had  gold  rims  and  two  gold  clasps,  which  was  per- 
haps one  reason  why  Winnie  had  not  thought  of  it 
so  much  as  a  book  at  all  as  a  kind  of  sacred  orna- 
ment or  jewel,  like  the  miniature  of  her  father  and 
mother  which  lay  in  the  morocco  case  on  her  dress- 
ing-table, and  which  she  looked  at  every  morning 
and  evening  before  she  said  her  prayers  :  for  in  the 
beginning  of  the  book  was  written  her  own  name, 
and  those  of  her  father  and  mother,  who  had  given 
it  her  years  ago,  when  she  was  a  very  little  child, 
and  was  sent  away  from  their  Indian  home  to  Mr. 
Bertram's  sister,  Mrs.  O'Brien,  in  England. 

As  Winnie  lay  on  her  little  French  bed,  very 
wide  awake,  thinking  things  over,  her  eyes  rested 
on  this  sacred  book. 

And  it  flashed  on  her : 

"  That  is  Maurice's  Book,  that  shows  how  things 
are  set  right." 

It  was  still  quite  light  enough  to  read ;  so  she 
sprang  out  of  bed,  and  reaching  up  this  book,  took 
it  back  into  bed  with  her,  and  folding  herself  up  in 
an  old  Indian  shawl  of  her  mother's,  unfastened 
the  clasps  with  eager,  trembling  hands,  and  began 
to  read. 

You  must  not  think  Winnie  had  never  read  this 
book  before.  Almost  every  day,  although  not  from 
that  very  volume,  she  read  the  Psalms  and  lessons 
to  her  aunt,  as  something  which  had  to  be  done 
regularly,  like  her  morning  walk.  Sometimes, 
moreover,  just  as  the  fresh  air  and  open  sky,  and 
the  flowers,  and  the  songs  of  the  birds,  sent  her 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  5  l 

home  from  her  daily  walk  refreshed  and  exhilarated, 
she  could  not  tell  how,  this  little  daily  journey  over 
sacred  ground  left  her,  she  scarcely  knew  how, 
refreshed  ahd  exhilarated  in  spirit. 

But  that  was  a  different  thing  from  opening  the 
book,  as  she  did  that  night,  to  get  her  questions 
answered,  and  her  heart  set  at  rest  about  right 
and  wrong. 

She  felt,  as  she  unfastened  the  golden  clasps, 
although  she  could  not  have  expressed  her  feeling 
like  some  one  opening  the  golden  doors  of  a  temple, 
in  whose  silent  recesses,  if  you  listened,  you  would 
hear  a  voice,  which  would  tell  you  all  you  wanted 
most  to  know. 

And  the  first  time  any  of  us  open  that  book,  to 
hear  the  voice  speaking  from  it  to  us,  is  a  great 
day  for  us,  whether  we  remember  it  in  after  years 
or  not.  The  first  thing  Winnie  read  in  it  was  the 
text  at  the  beginning,  in  her  mother's  writing  : 

"  Herein  is  love ;  not  that  we  loved  God,  but 
that  he  loved  us,  and  sent  his  Son  to  be  the  pro- 
pitiation for  our  sins  ;"  and : 

"  We  love  him  because  he  first  loved  us." 

The  chapter  and  verse  were  not  put,  but  Winnie 
thought  it  must  be  from  St.  John,  because  of  there 
being  so  much  about  love.  She  looked  through 
the  Gospel  in  vain,  and  then  she  turned  to  the 
Epistle ;  but  before  she  found  what  she  sought,  her 
eye  rested  on  the  words  : 

"  If  we  confess  our  sins,  he  is  faithful  and  just  to 
forgive  us  our  sins,  and  to  cleanse  us  from  all 
unrighteousness  ;"  and  just  above : 


52  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

"  The  blood  of  Jesus  Christ  his  Son  cleanseth  us 
from  all  sin." 

Hundreds  of  times,  as  she  had  heard  those  words, 
especially  those  about  confessing,  they  came  to  her 
that  night,  as  Maurice  had  said  the  words  of  that 
book  so  often  did  to  people,  like  something  quite 
new ;  new  in  power  and  freshness,  and  yet  sacred 
with  the  authority  and  tenderness  of  things  long 
familiar. 

She  did  not  read  any  more  that  evening.  She 
thought  she  had  found  the  answer  she  wanted ; 
and  kneeling  down  by  her  bedside,  she  prayed  in 
interrupted,  broken  words : 

"  Our  Father,  which  art  in  heaven,  I  am  come  to 
confess  my  faults.  I  have  been  jealous — I  am 
afraid  I  have.  I  have  been  cross— I  know  I  have. 
I  am  very  sorry.  I  want  so  very  much  not  to  do 
it  again ;  but  I  do  not  know  how  to  help  it.  Oh, 
do  forgive  me,  and  do  help  me.  For  Jesus  Christ's 
sake." 

That  was  all  Winnie's  prayer ;  but  she  felt  very 
much  lighter  in  heart  for  it. 

And  then  she  put  the  Bible  under  her  pillow,  and 
felt  as  if  it  were  a  friend  close  to  her ;  and  very 
soon  she  fell  asleep. 

A  few  minutes  afterwards,  when  Mrs.  O'Brien 
came  very  softly  into  her  room,  she  found  Winnie 
deep  in  her  first  sleep,  with  a  happy  smile  on 
her  rosy  little  face,  and  one  hand  unconsciously 
stretched  out  under  her  pillow  clasping  the  book 
whose  gold  rim  was  peeping  out  underneath  ;  as  if 
it  had  been  a  mother's  hand. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  ^ 

Tender  and  true  as  a  mother's  hand  indeed  it  is, 
little  Winnie,  leaning  down  to  thee  out  of  heaven, 
to  lead  thee  on  step  by  step,  and  to  uphold  thee 
while  it  leads  ! 

Mrs.  O'Brien  looked  a  long  time  at  the  sleeping 
child ;  and  as  she  stooped  down  very  softly  to  kiss 
her,  her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  She  would  not  on 
any  account  have  attempted  to  loosen  the  clasp  of 
the  little  hand,  but  she  drew  the  sheet  over  the 
uncovered  arm. 

And  Winnie's  was  not  the  only  prayer  offered  by 
her  bedside  that  night,  nor  the  only  confession. 


The  next  day  brought  Winnie  a  great  joy. 

As  she  was  doing  her  French  lessons,  Maurice's 
face  appeared  at  the  open  window  of  the  school- 
room, and  by  the  brightness  in  it  she  knew  at  once 
what  he  had  to  say ;  and  springing  up  with  one  of 
those  sudden  movements  which  so  disconcerted 
Rosalie,  and  endangered  dress  and  furniture,  she 
threw  herself  into  her  brother's  arms,  exclaiming  : 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,  Maurice.  It  is  all 
right.  You  have  found  little  Fan  !" 

Having  conciliated  Rosalie  by  a  courteous  greet- 
ing and  a  request  for  permission  to  abstract  her 
pupil  for  a  time,  Maurice  led  Winnie  into  the  garden 
for  a  confidential  talk. 

He  had  found  little  Fan.  But  his  face  was* 
graver  about  it  than  Winnie  liked. 

"  And  there  is  such  a  person  as  Dan,  Maurice, 
and  he  is  a  dear  good  brother,  like  you — I  am  sure 
5* 


54  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

he  is !    And  Fan  took  him  the  rose  ?    I  am  sure 
she  did!" 

"  There  is  such  a  little  man  as  Dan,"  Maurice 
replied,  "  and  he  seems  to  me  a  kind  brother  to 
Fan,  and  they  seem  to  love  each  other  very  dearly. 
And  I  found  the  withered  roses,  wrapped  up  very 
carefully  in  a  little  bit  of  old  newspaper,  under 
Dan's  pillow." 

"I  knew  it!  I  knew  it!"  Winnie  exclaimed, 
jumping  and  clapping  her  hands  ;  "  it  is  all  true  ! 
My  poor  dear  little  Fan  !  And  Rosalie  will  know 
it !  And  it  is  true  about  Dan's  going  up  the  chim- 
ney, and  everything,  Maurice,  isn't  it?  It  is  all 
true.  Oh,  how  I  wish  uncle  would  come  home, 
that  I  might  tell  him  !" 

"  It  is  all  quite  true,  Winnie — too  true,  I  am 
afraid,"  said  Maurice ;  "  for  poor  little  Dan's  leg  is 
no  better  than  it  was,  and  I  am  not  sure  if  it  ever 
will  be." 

In  her  delight  at  the  clearing  of  little  Fan's 
character,  and  the  restoration  of  Dan  from  a  myth 
to  an  historical  person,  Winnie  had  for  the  moment 
utterly  lost  sight  of  Dan's  sufferings  and  Fan's 
poverty ;  and  the  recollection  not  only  completely 
sobered  her,  but  brought  a  very  sorrowful  shade 
over  her  heart  and  face,  as  she  walked  on  silently 
with  her  hand  in  Maurice's. 

Very  soon,  however,  her  confidence  in  the  general 
cheerfulness  of  life,  and  the  power  of  doctors  to 
make  sick  people  well,  revived,  and  she  said: 

"We  will  tell  auntie,  Maurice,  and  you  know 
we  can  ask  Dr.  Dee  to  go  and  see  Dan.  Auntie 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


55 


says  Dr.  Dee's  cures  are  miraculous.  I  heard  her 
say  so  yesterday.  And  he  always  makes  me  well 
in  a  day  or  two." 

Maurice's  face  did  not  quite  respond  to  Winnie's 
hopes.  However,  he  said : 

"  We  will  try,  at  all  events.  We  will  do  every 
thing  for  Dan  that  can  be  done." 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "  I  have  still  half  a 
sovereign  of  my  own,  and  that  will  go  a  long  way, 
I  should  think,  in  buying  nice  things  for  Dan  to  eat. 
And  oh,  Maurice,  do  you  think  auntie  will  ever  let 
me  go  and  see  little  Fan  ?  " 

Maurice  sat  down  on  a  garden  chair,  and  taking 
Winnie's  hands  in  his  looked  very  kindly  down  on 
her  eager  up-turned  face. 

"  I  have  asked  auntie,"  he  said,  "  and  she  says 
you  may  go  to-morrow." 

Winnie's  joy  once  more  quite  overwhelmed  her 
sorrow. 

"Aunt  O'Brien  says  you  may  go  on  one  con. 
dition,"  he  resumed,  "  that  is,  if  I  will  assure  her  it 
is  not  too  sad  a  sight  for  a  little  girl  like  you  to  see. 
She  says  you  have  no  control  over  your  feelings. 
And  it  is  a  sad  sight.  I  cannot  say  it  is  not.  But 
I  think  you  could  bear  it,  Winnie.  And  I  am  sure 
it  must  do  any  one  good  to  see  Dan's  patient  little 
face.  And  I  think  you  would  bear  it,  Winnie,"  he 
concluded.  "  You  would  not  make  the  poor  boy 
think  his  case  worse  than  it  is,  by  crying  too  much? 
or  by  looking  dreadfully  grieved  !  " 

A  soft,  steady,  womanly  light  dawned  in  the 
depths  of  Winnie's  eyes,  as  she  opened  them  wide 
and  looking  up  at  Maurice  said  : 


56  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

"I  would  not  make  Dan  worse  for  the  world, 
Maurice.  I  won't  begin  to  cry  a  bit,  because  if  one 
once  begins  I  don't  see  how  any  one  can  help  going 
on.  Besides,"  she  continued,  her  face  brightening 
up  again,  "  you  know  we  are  not  going  only  to  look 
at  Dan,  as  if  he  were  a  melancholy  picture,  or  a  story 
book  written  to  make  people  cry.  We  are  going  to 
help  him,  Maurice." 

The  whole  of  the  day  was  full  of  busy  prepara- 
tions. Everything  and  every  person  seemed  now  to 
combine  to  help  Winnie  in  her  plans  about  little 
Fan,  as,  before,  all  had  seemed  to  conspire  to 
hinder  her. 

There  had  been  a  dinner-party,  so  that  there  was 
even  more  than  a  usual  store  of  delicacies  and  all 
kinds  of  nice  nourishing  things  to  take  to  Dan. 

Mrs.  O'Brien  brought  out  an  old  frock,  hat,  and 
woollen  cloak  of  Winnie's  for  little  Fan,  and  quite 
a  stock  of  warm  wraps  and  clean  soft  linen  rags  for 
Dan. 

Mr.  O'Brien  gave  her  a  whole  sovereign  to  spend, 
under  Maurice's  directions,  for  the  orphans,  and 
proposed  getting  each  of  them  into  a  separate  orphan 
asylum ;  a  plan,  however,  which  Winnie  secretly 
determined  must  never  be  carried  out. 

Winnie  herself  rummaged  out  a  little  library  of 
story-books  and  pictures,  out  of  which  after  many 
discussions  as  to  Dan's  probable  tastes  and  literary 
capabilities,  she  was  allowed  to  select  a  Bible 
picture-book  in  which  the  people  wore  very  bril- 
liant coats  of  many  colors.  Winnie  thought  these 
would  be  very  fascinating  to  both  brother  and 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  57 

sister,  except  that  at  the  last  she  was  on  the  point 
of  keeping  it  back,  because,  as  she  said,  little  Fan 
might  think  the  Bible  was  like  the  church  with  the 
tall  tower  where  no  one  belonged  but  the  people 
who  had  fine  clothes. 

Even  Rosalia  was  entirely  won  over,  and  entered 
warmly  into  Winnie's  schemes.  She  had  the  highest 
opinion  of  Mr.  Maurice's  judgment.  She  thought 
him,  although  a  little  eccentric  (but  then  he  was 
English),  a  gentleman  of  very  distinguished  man. 
ners,  and  moreover  (although  a  Protestant)  a  kind 
of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul.  She  was  anxious,  more- 
over, to  atone  for  her  previous  scepticism.  Accord- 
ingly, just  as  Winnie  and  Maurice  were  starting  in 
the  carriage,  she  handed  to  Winnie  an  elegant  little 
basket  which  her  clever  French  fingers  had  twisted 
the  night  before  out  of  paper  and  wire,  and  in  which 
were  arranged  among  dark  leaves  with  as  much 
taste  as  if  for  a  fruit  picture,  six  beautiful  peaches, 
which  she  had  risen  early  that  morning  to  purchase 
at  the  fruiterer's.  This  attention  so  overcame  Win- 
nie with  penitence,  gratitude,  and  a  flood  of  good 
resolutions,  as  almost  to  overpower  at  the  outset  her 
heroic  purposes  of  self-control. 

The  carriage  passed  very  quickly  from  the  high 
open  ground  where  Winnie  lived,  through  a  suburb 
of  large  houses  with  high  garden  walls,  with  car- 
riages frequently  waiting  at  the  gates ;  then  through 
a  district  of  small  houses,  behind  little  railed 
gardens  in  which  very  low  arithmetical  powers 
might  have  counted  the  shrubs  and  flowers,  and  the 
chief  vehicles  were  the  baker's  and  butcher's  cart  $ 


5  8  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

then  through  broad  thoroughfares  noisy  with  omni- 
buses and  cabs ;  and  finally  into  a  region  of  narrow 
streets  and  dingy  old-fashioned  houses  below  the 
level  of  omnibuses  or  cabs,  or  bakers'  carts,  where 
the  vehicles  were  heavy  lumbering  coal-wagons 
and  drays,  and  where  hats  and  shoes  were,  among 
the  children,  quite  a  rare  distinction. 

At  length  they  came  in  sight  of  a  high  church 
tower,  and  Maurice  stopped  the  carriage,  helped 
Winnie  out  with  the  parcels,  and  silently  the  brother 
and  sister  walked  along  until  they  came  close  to 
the  church,  and  then  under  a  narrow  covered  way 
between  two  houses,  so  narrow  that  they  could  not 
walk  abreast,  they  entered  an  alley  with  no  outlet 
at  the  other  end,  where  five  or  six  ragged  boys  (a 
great  deal  too  cool  and  experienced  to  pay  any 
particular  attention  to  the  gentleman  and  little  lady) 
were  shouting  over  pitch  and  toss,  and  at  almost 
every  door  sat  or  stood  a  ragged  little  girl  hoisting 
a  ragged  baby  just  as  big  as  herself. 

"  Those  are  the  boys  who  would  have  snatched  at 
little  Fan's  flowers,"  whispered  Winnie,  with  a 
slight  shudder. 

At  the  end  of  the  court  Maurice  entered  a  low 
door,  and  asked  if  he  might  see  the  little  boy  with 
the  broken  leg. 

A  sullen  looking  man  sat  smoking  by  the  fire, 
but' vouchsafed  no  answer,  except  a  toss  of  his  head 
in  the  direction  of  the  staircase. 

Before  they  could  reach  this,  however,  a  woman 
appeared  from  a  mysterious  back  room,  and  with 
officious  politeness,  but  in  a  shrill  voice  which 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  59 

seemed  as  if  it  had  got  so  high  up  in  the  practice 
of  scolding  that  it  never  could  be  got  down  again 
for  any  milder  use,  told  them  how  condescending  it 
was  of  gentlefolks  like  them  to  come  into  such  poor 
dark  holes,  warned  the  dear  young  lady  to  take  care 
of  her  pretty  dress,  and  offered  to  guide  them  up- 
stairs herself.  Winnie  was  very  glad  that  Maurice 
declined  her  assistance,  for  the  woman's  shrill  com- 
pliments grated  against  her  more  than  the  sulky 
silence  of  the  man,  although  as  they  went  upstairs 
she  heard  him  muttering  something  not  pleasant 
about  "  parsons,'*  and  a  man's  house  being  his  own. 

Up  and  up  they  went,  and  round  and  round,  past 
doors  at  which  strange  faces  peeped  at  them  cu- 
riously, until  they  came  to  the  garret. 

At  first  Winnie  thought  Maurice  had  made  a 
mistake  and  brought  her  to  a  lumber-room,  for  there 
was  nothing  in  it  but  two  old  boxes,  and  the  roof 
sloped  to  the  floor. 

But  as  her  eyes  recovered  from  the  dazzle  of  day- 
light after  the  dark  stairs,  she  saw  something  stir- 
ring from  a  mat  on  the  floor  in  a  corner  near  the 
window,  and  then  she  perceived  that  it  was  the  thin 
wan  face  of  a  litle  boy  who  had  raised  himself  on 
his  elbow  to  look  at  the  visitors. 

Large  dark  eager  eyes,  like  Fan's  looked  out  from 
the  thin  hollow  cheeks  with  a  wistful  longing,  as  if 
through  prison-bars. 

But  as  he  recognised  Maurice,  a  happy  child's 
smile  beamed  out  over  all  his  face,  and  he  sank 
down  again  as  if  quite  at  home. 

Winnie  understood  why  Fan  had  felt  it  worth 


6o  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND  . 

while  to  take  such  pains  to  waken  up  that  smile. 
For  a  moment  it  took  all  the  old  wizened  suffering 
look  out  of  the  face,  and  made  it  the  face  of  a  happy 
child,  yet  with  a  depth  of  expression  about  it  that 
only  comes  out  of  suffering. 

She  needed  no  introduction,  she  had  no  doubt 
who  it  was,  but  she  lingered  in  a  shy  way  near  the 
door,  until  Maurice  led  her  forward  with  Rosalie's 
basket  and  a  bunch  of  roses  in  her  hand,  and  said : 

"  This  is  the  little  girl  who  gave  your  sister  the 
rose,  Dan.  She  is  my  little  sister.  She  thought 
you  might  like  some  fruit,  and  she  has  brought 
you  some." 

It  did  not  seem  in  the  family  to  say,  "  thank 
you,"  but  Dan  nodded  his  approbation,  and  had 
evidently  his  own  ideas  of  good  manners,  for  he 
did  not  attempt  to  taste  the  fruit  until  Maurice 
had  expressly  told  him  to  do  so,  and  given  one 
peach  into  his  hand,  and  then  pointing  to  Winnie, 
he  said :  % 

"  Give  one  to  her." 

Winnie's  honesty  would  not  allow  her  to  appro- 
priate all  Dan's  gratitude,  so  coloring  very  much, 
she  said : 

"  They  are  not  my  peaches,  they  are  Rosalie's. 
But  the  roses  are  mine,  Dan,  they,  are  from  my 
own  rose-bush." 

"  I  wish  Fan  was  here,"  said  Dan,  "  she'll  be 
dreadful  cut  up  to  miss  you.  She  do'n't  scarcely 
never  leave  me.  But  uncle  sent  her  for  a  ha'porth 
of  gin." 

In  a  little  while  Maurice  sitting  on  a  box  near 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  61 

* 
the  bed  had  drawn  the  little  boy  into  conversation. 

Perfectly  unencumbered  with  the  rules  about  bad 
or  good  manners,  or  titles  or  forms  of  address,  Dan 
was  in  this  respect  on  firmer  ground  with  Maurice 
than  if  he  had  belonged  to  a  class  a  little  bit 
higher,  and  had  thus  come  under  the  restraint  of 
conventional  rules  imperfectly  understood,  and  only 
practised  at  rare  intervals.  Next  to  the  ease  of 
manner  of  a  perfect  gentleman  is  the  ease  of  man- 
ner of  an  unmitigated  ragged  boy,  especially,  pro- 
vided the  ragged  boy  is  a  natural  gentleman ; 
although  in  some  points,  it  must  be  confessed,  there 
are  differences.  And  Dan  was  by  nature  a  gentle- 
man, as  Winnie  knew  from  the  moment  he  offered 
her  the  peach.  Indeed,  his  good  manners  were 
rooted  in  something  a  good  deal  deeper  than  any 
codes  of  etiquette  written  or  unwritten,  as  Winnie 
felt  while  she  listened  to  him  and  Maurice. 

Not  that  Dan  said  much,  at  Jeast  at  first ;  he 
seemed  to  devour  Maurice's  words  as  he  spoke, 
looking  into  his  face  with  those  great  questioning 
eyes,  and  every  now  and  then  nodding  his  head 
and  smiling  his  approval.  It  was,  indeed,  evi- 
dent that  Maurice  and  he  quite  understood  each 
other. 

By  degrees,  however,  Dan  began  to  speak 
himself. 

"  You  see,"  said  Maurice  softly,  "  God  has  not 
forgotten  you." 

"  He  never  don't,"  said  Dan,  "  night  nor  day." 

"  God  doesn't  forget  you,  even  when  you  don't 
get  much  to  eat,"  said  Maurice,  to  whona  Winnie 
6 


62  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

had  revealed  her  anxieties  that  Dan  should  not  get 
perplexed  on  this  subject. 

"  Mother  couldn't  always  give  us  bread,  if  we 
''cried  for  it,"  replied  Dan,  "  and  she  was  as  good  as 
could  be,  and  teacher  said  God  is  better  nor  her. 
Jesus  took  'em  up  in  His  arms,"  he  continued, 
"  teacher  said  he  did.  And  I  know  He'd  help  me 
and  Fan,  if  He  saw  any  way.  Of  course  there  is 
ways,"  concluded  Dan,  "  for  teacher  said  there  was 
nothing  He  couldn't  do.  But  He  won't  never  take 
none  but  the  right  way.  In  course  He  couldn't. 
So  we  must  wait  till  He  has  found  it." 

"  Perhaps  our  Saviour  has  found  the  right  way 
now,"  said  Maurice,  "  and  has  sent  us.  You  think 
a  great  deal,  Dan  !"  he  continued,  as  he  looked  at 
the  little  thin  suffering  face,  and  thought  how 
much  Dan  had  learned,  if  he  had  learned  to  wait 
for  God. 

"Yes,"  said  Dan  confidentially, •" but  most  at 
nights.  The  court's  quiet  then,  and  I  don't  feel  so 
much  that  I  should  like  to  be  out  at  play  with  'em 
all  in  the  sun.  And  it's  all  dark,  except  up  there 
in  the  sky.  And  the  stars  come  out,  such  lots  of 
them,  for  they're  not  the  same,  and  they  don't  keep 
in  one  place."  (Dan  announced  this  as  a  discov- 
ery.) "They  keep  going  on.  Sometimes  there's 
four  or  five  of  'em  in  a  bunch,  and  sometimes  three 
in  a  row.  And  then  there's  one  or  two  brighter 
than  all  the  others,  that  don't  wink,  but  keep  look- 
ing at  me  so  kind  and  steady  like.  They  make  me 
think  of  mother,  and  of  our  Saviour,  and  of  the 
children  in  heaven.  And  I  'most  think  I  can  hear 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  63 

'em  singing  up  there  sometimes."  Then  after  a 
little  pause,  he  suddenly  looked  up  with  a  penetrat- 
ing look  at  Maurice,  and  said : 

"  What  becomes  of  them  stars  all  day  long  ?" 

"  They  are  always  there,"  said  Maurice,  "  only 
they  are  hidden  in  the  sunshine." 

Dan  nodded  as  if  confirmed  in  a  conviction. 

"  I  thought  so,"  he  said,  "  and  that's  how  it  is 
with  heaven,  and  the  Lord,  and  the  children  up 
there.  It's  just  the  same  as  with  the  stars." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Dan?"  said  Maurice, 
anxious  to  bring  out  the  boy's  thought. 

"  Why  they're  always  there"  said  Dan  in  a  low, 
happy  voice.  "  They're  always  there,  looking  and 
smiling  on  us  ;  only  there's  too  much  dazzle  for  us 
to  see  'em,  or  hear  'em,  and  too  much  noise." 

Maurice  did  not  say  anything  for  some  time. 
Then  he  said : 

"  You  have  very  happy  thoughts,  Dan,  I  think 
God  gives  them  to  you." 

Dan  nodded  assent. 

"  There's  another  thing  I  think  at  night,"  he 
said,  eager  now  his  heart  was  opened  by  such  rare 
comprehension  and  sympathy  to  pour  out  the  long 
pent-up  feelings,  "  and  that  makes  me  'most  happier 
than  anything  else.  Teacher  said  them  stars  is 
miles  and  miles  away ;  and  as  I  look  up,  and  up,  I 
think  I  see  they  are.  The  world  seems  so  high  and 
so  wide,  there's  no  end  to  it.  And  that's  very 
gaod  to  feel." 

"  You  think  you  won't  always  be  imprisoned  in 
this  little  narrow  room,"  said  Maurice. 


64  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

"  No,"  said  the  boy,  "  but  what  I  feel  most  is 
how  small  I  am  in  this  big  world.  At  first  I  didn't 
like  to  feel  that.  It  felt  cold  like.  But  now  I  like 
it  'most  best  of  all.  'Cause,  you  know,  there's 
Jesus ;  and  teacher  said  it  all  belongs  to  Him,  the 
world  do ;  and  when  I  think  of  Him,  it's  so -good 
to  feel  small.  His  arms  is  all  round  me,  as  mother's 
was  when  I  was  a  little  child.  And  it's  so  good  to 
nestle  in  quite  close  like,  and  feel  so  helpless  and  so 
little,  and  He  so  kind  and  strong." 

Just  then  Winnie  heard  little  feet  climbing  up 
the  stairs,  and  in  a  minute  little  Fan  appeared 
laboriously  carrying  a  jug  of  water  nearly  as  big 
as  herself,  which  she  all  but  dropped  in  her  amaze- 
ment at  seeing  Winnie  and  Maurice. 

Dan,  however,  encouraged  her  to  come  in. 
"  It's  only  your  own  little  lady,  Fan,"  he  said. 
At  first  the  little  girls  were  rather  shy  with  each 
other,  but  as  Maurice  continued  his  conversation 
with  Dan,  and  examined  his  broken  leg  to  see  what 
could  be  done,  by  degrees  the  confidence  Rosalie 
had  so  roughly  broken  was  restored ;  Winnie 
opened  the  bundle  containing  the  frock  and  hat, 
and  the  basket  with  the  cold  soup  and  jellies,  and 
by  the  time  Maurice  rose  to  go,  she  had  got  the 
length  of  delicately  suggesting  to  little  Fan  how 
very  nice  it  was  to  wash  one's  hands  and  face. 

When  they  were  about  to  leave,  the  Bible  pic- 
ture-book dropped  by  accident  on  the  floor.     Win- 
nie picked  it  up,  but  did  not   propose  giving  it 
to  Dan. 
Maurice  thought  she  was  shy,  and  was  proceed- 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  65 

ing  to  give  it  in  her  name,  when  she  stopped  him, 
and  flushing  very  red,  whispered,  "  Don't,  Maurice, 
please.  I  don't  think  Dan  w6uld  like  it." 

He  yielded  in  some  perplexity.  And  they  took 
leave,  Maurice  promising  to  return  very  soon. 

"  Will  she  come,  too  ?"  said  Dan  stretching  out 
his  hand  to  shake  Winnie's. 

And  as  that  rare  sunbeam  of  a  smile  broke  over 
the  wan,  little  face  again,  Winnie  very  nearly  for- 
got her  resolution  and  burst  into  tears. 

Very  silent  she  was  as  they  drove  home,  until 
Maurice  asked  her  why  she  did  not  wish  to  give 
Dan  the  picture-book. 

"  Oh,  Maurice,  how  could  I  ?"  she  said ;  "  he 
knows  so  much  better  than  that.  How  could  I 
give  Dan  such  pictures  of  our  Saviour  as  those ! 
There  is  one  in  auntie's  dressing-room,"  she  added, 
"  that  might  be  good  enough.  The  face  listening 
at  the  closed  door,  you  know.  But,  perhaps,  auntie 
mightn't  quite  like  to  give  that  to  Dan." 

"Are  you  pleased  or  disappointed,  Winnie," 
asked  Mrs.  O'Brien,  when  Winnie  came  back  with 
an  earnest,  thoughtful  face. 

"  I  don't  quite  know,  auntie,"  she  said, "  I  thought 
we  would  have  done  more  for  Dan  ;  that  he  would 
have  wanted  more.  But  what  we  can  do  seems 
so  little  and  poor.  God  has  made  him  so  happy 
already." 

"  We  can  help  about  his  broken  leg,  Winnie," 
said  Maurice,  "  and  get  him  into  a  home  where  he 
will  be  kindly  nursed  and  have  plenty  of  good 
6* 


66  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

food,  and  where  little  Fan  may  learn  to  read,  and 
to  wash  her  face,  and  that  will  be  something." 

Winnie  shook  her  head.  And  at  length'  the 
long-controlled  feelings  gave  way,  and  she  burst 
into  tears. 

"What  is  the  matter,  darling?"  Mrs.  O'Brien 
asked. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  for  Fan,"  sobbed  Winnie  ;  "  I'm 
so  sorry  for  poor  little  Fan." 

"  Why,  little  Fan's  troubles  are  over,  I  hope, 
Winnie,"  said  Maurice. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Winnie.  "  Oh,  no  !  I'm  so  sorry 
for  little  Fan  !" 

"Why,  what  is  the  matter,  my  child?"  said 
her  aunt. 

"  Oh,"  sobbed  Winnie,  "  when  Dan  dies  !" 

"  But  I  have  great  hope  Dan  will  live  and  get 
well,  Winnie,"  said  Maurice.  "  Why  are  you  so 
distressed  ?" 

"  It  isn't  that  he's  so  ill,"  moaned  Winnie,  "  but 
he's  so  good.  All  the  children  in  the  books  die 
when  they  talk  like  that.  And  I'm  so  sorry  for 
Fan." 

By  degrees,  however,  Winnie  was  reassured. 
Maurice  thought  the  leg  a  more  hopeful  case  than 
he  had  at  first ;  and  a  long  talk  ensued  as  to  the 
best  way  of  helping  the  orphan  children. 

That  evening  when  she  went  to  bed,  Winnie  led 
Maurice  to  the  door  of  her  aunt's  dressing-room, 
and  showed  him  the  picture  she  thought  would  do 
for  Dan. 

"  Only,"  she  said,  "  the  Face  is  so  very  sad,  and 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  67 

the  door  is  shut  against  Him.  And  Dan's  door 
isn't  shut,  Maurice,  is  it  ?" 

And  when  a  week  afterwards  Mrs.  O'Brien  drove 
Winnie  to  the  home  for  sick  children,  and  she  saw 
Dan  laid  on  a  clean,  fresh  bed,  with  the  look  of 
suffering  greatly  lightened  on  his  face,  and  heard 
the  tone  of  delight  in  which  little  Fan  (who  as  a 
special  privilege  was  permitted  to  wait  on  her 
brother),  told  how  he  had  walked  that  day  from 
one  end  of  the  room  to  the  other,  her  fears  were 
calmed,  and  she  even  admitted  that  although  God 
had  done  so  much  for  Dan  already,  He  had  left 
something  for  them  to  do,  and  she  was  so  glad 
He  had. 

And  in  the  evening  after  they  returned,  as  she 
was  having  a  twilight  talk  with  Maurice,  Winnie 
said: 

"  Oh,  Maurice,  I  do  hope  I  have  found  the  way 
out  of  the  Contracting  Chamber." 

"I  think  you  have,  Winnie,"  he  said.  "It's 
when  we  ourselves  are  in  the  middle  of  the  world 
that  it  grows  so  narrow  and  poor  to  us  ;  is  it  not  ? 
Fan's  world  was  larger  than  yours,  because  Dan 
was  in  the  middle  of  it,  and  not  herself.  But  Dan's 
world  is  widest  of  all.  Do  you  know  why  ?" 

"  God  is  in  the  middle  of  it,"  she  replied  very 
softly  ;  « isn't  that  it  ?" 

"  Like  the  sun,"  said  Maurice,  "  and  that  makes 
it  all  so  wide  and  bright." 

"  And  oh,  Maurice,"  concluded  Winnie  very  seri- 
ously, "  I  do  hope  God  will  help  me  never  to  get 
into  the  middle  of  my  world  again  !" 


CHAPTER  III. 


|OW,  Maurice,"  said  Winnie,  "  about  the 
Five  Worlds,  and  about  little  Grace 
Leigh." 

To  explain  these  words,  it  is  necessary 
to  go  back  three  hours,  three  hours  of  that  precious 
day  to  which  Winifred  had  been  looking  forward  so 
long  as  quite  a  little  lifetime  of  delight. 

For  it  was  the  first  of  October,  and  Winifred's 
birthday.  She  had  been  offered  various  kinds  of 
entertainment  by  her  aunt  and  uncle,  including  an 
elaborate  children's  ball,  a  conjurer,  and  a  ventrilo- 
quist ;  but  she  had  chosen  in  preference  to  every- 
thing else  in  the  world,  a  whole  day  with  Maurice, 
stipulating  only  for  a  visit  in  the  morning  from 
little  Fan. 

Maurice  had  come  to  stay  at  Mr.  O'Brien's  on 
the  previous  evening,  that  it  might  be  really  a 
whole  day ;  and  Winnie  had  parted  from  Rosalie 
with  the  most  urgent  entreaties  not  to  wake  her  a 
minute  after  seven  o'clock,  that  she  might  not  lose 
a  moment  of  the  treasured  hours. 

(68) 


WINIFRED  BERTRAM.  69 

But  before  that  hour  arrived,  the  child's  light 
morning  slumbers  were  broken  by  the  rustle  of  a 
dress  and  the  soft  closing  of  a  door. 

"Oh,  Rosalie!"  she  exclaimed,  starting  up> 
"  you  are  trying  to  impose  on  me.  It  is  seven 
o'clock." 

"  It  is  scarcely  six,"  rejoined  Rosalie,  reopening 
the  door ;  "  and  madame  gave  the  most  express 
orders  you  were  to  sleep  till  seven  at  earliest. 
Tranquillize  thyself,  little  enthusiast,  the  day  will 
last  thee  long  enough." 

The  door  closed  again. 

But  Winnie' had  caught  sight  of  something  which 
quite  neutralized  any  orders  to  sleep.  Over  the 
walnut  bookshelves  was  suspended  a  large  new 
engraving  of  the  picture  she  loved — the  thorn- 
crowned  Saviour  listening  at  the  closed  weed-grown 
door. 

And  over  the  picture,  resting  on  its  frame,  was 
placed,  in  large  illuminated  letters,  blue  and  crimson 
and  gold,  wreathed  with  spring-flowers,  the  text, 
"  We  love  Him  because  He  first  loved  us."  It  seemed 
to  Winnie  like  a  message  from  unseen  worlds,  from 
the  unseen  Saviour  in  heaven,  and  from  the  absent 
mother  whose  loving  hands  had  written  those  very 
words  so  many  years  before  in  the  little  Bible  which, 
since  that  Sunday  evening,  the  child  always  kept 
under  her  pillow  at  night. 

A  kind  of  tender  awe  came  over  the  child's  heart 
as  she  sat  up  gazing  at  her  new  treasures,  until  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears. 

No  doubt  she  thought  Maurice  had  something  to 


7o  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

do  with  it ;  but  how  could  Maurice,  or  anyone  on 
earth,  remember  what  was  written  inside  the  Bible 
which  never  left  her  room,  or  know  about  that 
Sunday  evening  when  in  the  summer  twilight  those 
words  had  first  grown  so  dear  to  her  ? 

As  Winnie  gazed  and  wondered,  this  feeling  of 
awe  deepened  within  her,  as  if  presences  she  could 
not  see  were  around  her,  and  had  been  around  her 
without  her  knowing  it  all  her  life  ;  as  if  she  were 
half-waking,  and  caught  the  soft  sweep  of  angels' 
raiment  passing  away,  and  the  faint  echo  of  retreat, 
ing  footsteps,  and  the  whisper  of  voices  just  hushed ; 
and  the  dim  smile  of  holy  vanishing  faces  that  had 
been  watching  her  sleep  ;  and  as  if,  could  she  only 
quite  awake,  she  would  see  and  hear  wonders  of  love 
and  joy — hear  not  only  the  voices  but  the  words. 

"I  wonder  if  people  ever  do  quite  awake  and 
hear  and  see  all  this  ?  I  will  ask  Maurice  about  it 
all,"  she  thought.  And  then  came  the  joyful 
recollection,  "Maurice  is  to  be  here  all  day,  all 
day." 

And  she  laid  her  head  back  on  her  pillow  just  to 
be  still  a  little  while,  and  measure  over  the  joy 
again  and  again.  Nearly  an  hour  before  seven  to 
think  of  it  beforehand,  and  then  twelve,  thirteen, 
fourteen  hours  to  be  with  Maurice,  to  ask  every 
question  she  could  think  of,  and  hear  all  about  every- 
thing. 

And  through  all  her  thoughts  those  words  kept 
shining  on  her,  "  We  love  Him,  because  He  first  loved 
us"  One  word  after  another.  "  We — that  is  Mau- 
rice, and  Dan,  and  I.  Yes,  I  myself,"  thought 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  71 

Winnie ;  "  yes,  I  do  love  Him.  Yes,  love ;  who 
could  help  it  ?  Yet  how  little.  Oh,  I  wish  it  was 
better,  then  I  should  be  better.  I  love  auntie,  and 
I  love  papa  and  mamma ;  but  then  I  have  seen 
them.  If  I  could  only  see  Him,  look  up  into  His 
face  just  once,  and  see  Him  looking  on  me,  I  should 
know  Him  so  much  better.  I  wonder  if  He  thinks 
how  much  easier  it  is  to  see.'  He  certainly  must. 
Then  how  tenderly  He  must  pity  us  who  cannot." 

And  then  her  eyes  and  heart  ran  on  to  the  word 
"first"  in  large  letters  of  deep  blue,  starred  over 
with  gold.  "  First !  first !"  she  thought.  "  What 
does  '  first '  mean  ?  When  did  «  first '  begin  ?  Did 
it  ever  begin  ?  Before  we  ever  thought  of  Him, 
before  we  were  born,  before  He  died,  before  God 
gave  His  only  begotten  Son.  Yes,  the  { loved' 
comes  before  the  t  gave.'  Did  it  ever  begin  ?  What 
was  there  before  '  first  ?'  What  was  there  before 
love,"  thought  Winnie,  losing  her  thoughts  alto- 
gether, like  a  lark  as  we  watch  it  singing  itself  out 
of  sight  into  the  sunshine.  And  then  once  more 
her  eyes  lighted  on  that  unfathomable  simple  word, 
and,  like  a  lark  to  its  nest,  her  heart  came  down  to 
the  human  love  that  gave  her  these  birthday  gifts 
to-day.  For  she  thought,  "  no  one  but  God  knew 
how  I  love  those  words,  so  He  must  have  put  it 
into  some  one's  heart  to  send  them  to  me."  From 
"  Did  that  love  ever  begin  ?"  she  came  down  to, 
"  Yes1,  it  is  always  beginning.  It  is  never  I  that 
begin.  It  is  God  who  is  always  beginning  to  do 
me  good  and  to  bless  me.  If  I  awake  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  thank  Him,  it  is  because  He  was  awake  all 


72  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

night  watching  me.  If  I  look  up  to  Him,  it  was 
because  He  was  first  looking  at  me.  If  I  remem- 
ber Him,  it  is  because  He  is  always  first  remember- 
ing me.  He  is  always  before  us,  always  loving  us 
first,  forever,  and  every  day,  and  forever." 

This  was  Winnie's  birthday  hymn,  although  she 
could  no  more  have  put  it  in  words  than  the  lark 
his  song. 

And  then  came  back  the  first  wonder,  who  could 
have  chosen  that  text,  and  painted  it  so  beautifully 
for  her  ?  which  wonder  in  all  its  ramifications  kept 
her  busy  thoughts  fully  occupied  till  all  the  clocks 
struck  seven ;  the  church  clock  solemnly  from  the 
hill-side  below,  with  a  sweet  Sunday  music  in  its 
tone ;  the  house  clock,  ostentatiously  from  the 
stable,  like  a  clock  of  respectability  that  knew  it 
was  not  every  one  that  had  a  stable  clock;  the 
kitchen  clock  decisively,  like  a  clock  of  business ; 
the  little  French  clock  in  the  nursery,  hastily,  like 
a  clock  of  pleasure,  always  late,  and,  therefore, 
always  in  a  hurry ;  and  finally,  heavily  booming  in 
deep  tones  behind  all  the  rest,  the  great  clock  of 
St.  Paul's,  like  a  clock  of  state,  burdened  with  the 
responsibility  of  keeping  three  millions  of  people 
in  time. 

"Winnie  counted  the  last  stroke  of  the  last  of 
them  like  a  miser  his  gold,  and  then  she  rose 
triumphantly,  and  said  to  herself : 

"  Now  I  have  a  right  to  get  up.  No  one  can 
say  I  have  not  done  what  auntie  told  me.  The 
day  has  begun." 

It  was  difficult  for  Winnie  to  give  even  such  a 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  73 

parenthetical  welcome  as  gratitude  required  to  the 
other  presents  which  awaited  her  on  her  coming 
down  stairs,  so  eager  was  she  to  come  to  the  solu- 
tion of  the  matter  of  the  illuminated  text.  A  flush 
of  pleasure  did,  indeed,  crimson  the  little  bright 
face  as  she  saw  the  wonderful  erection  of  leaves 
and  flowers  with  which  Rosalie  had  embowered 
her  own  peculiar  chair  at  the  breakfast  table  ;  and 
she  inwardly  resolved  never  to  be  provoked  again 
with  Rosalie  all  her  life  long.  The  little  ruby 
locket  on  her  plate,  and  the  brilliantly-bound  books 
beside  it,  ensured  a  fervent  hug  for  her  uncle  and 
aunt ;  and  the  India  workbox  of  inlaid  silver, 
ebony,  and  ivory,  with  the  inscription  upon  the 
inside,  "  For  our  darling  child  Winifred,"  brought 
tears  at  the  thought  of  the  absent  parents  who 
were  thinking  of  her,  and  could  not  be  thanked. 
But  the  love  which  sent  the  things  having  thus 
found  its  response  in  Winnie's  heart,  the  things 
themselves  soon  took  that  place  in  her  regard, 
which  the  most  costly  things  must,  which  have 
never  been  consecrated  to  a  value  not  their  own, 
by  waiting  or  privation,  or  self-denial.  And  her 
thoughts  reverting  to  the  text,  she  whispered  to 
Maurice : 

"  Who  painted  those  words  ?" 

"  Little  Grace  Leigh,"  he  said. 

"  But  who  is  little  Grace  Leigh  ?  And  how 
could  she  know  ?"  rejoined  Winnie. 

"  She  is  the  daughter  of  the  curate  of  St.  Cuth- 
bert's.  And  how  could  she  know  what  ?"  replied 
Maurice. 


74  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

"What  mamma  wrote  inside  my  Bible"  said 
Winnie  in  a  low  whisper,  coloring. 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  said  Maurice,  shaking  his 
head.  "  We  will  talk  about  it  after  breakfast." 

And  so,  grave  and  happy  with  the  possession  of 
one  mystery  and  the  expectation  of  more,  Winnie 
returned  to  her  canopy,  and  sat,  a  depth  of  delici- 
ous wonder  in  her  great  soft  eyes,  speculating  what 
her  uncle  meant  by  saying  she  looked  imperial 
enough  for  ox-eyed  Juno  on  her  golden  throne,  or 
what  Maurice  meant  by  suggesting  a  resemblance 
to  the  Norn  of  the  future  sitting  beside  the  Well 
by  the  roots  of  the  green  Tree  of  life. 

Then  Mr.  O'Brien  and  Maurice  branched  off  into 
a  comparison  of  the  Old  World  stories  of  the 
Greeks  and  the  Goths,  which  left  her  imagination 
free  to  return  to  her  own  little  world.  And  so  tne 
time  passed  until  Mr.  O'Brien  had  left  for  London, 
and  Mrs.  O'Brien  for  household  consultations,  and 
Maurice  and  Winnie  were  left  alone  by  the  dining- 
room  fire,  he  in  the  easy  chair,  and  she  on  the 
hearth-rug  before  him. 

"  And  now,  Maurice,"  she  said,  "  about  the  Five 
Worlds  and  about  little  Grace  Leigh." 

"  Grace  Leigh  must  explain  herself  to  you,"  he 
said.  "  If  I  described  her  to  you,  when  you  saw 
her  you  might  say,  '  I  do  not  see  any  resemblance 
between  your  picture  and  the  original.'  We  see 
in  people  what  we  know  in  them.  And  we  can 
only  know  in  them  what  we  have  faculties  to  know. 
We  must  all  learn  each  other  for  ourselves.  My 
Grace  Leigh  would  not  be  your  Grace  Leigh,  or,  at 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  75 

least  our  pictures  would* be  different,  and  neither 
of  them,"  he  added,  musing,  "  after  all,  would  be 
quite  Grace  Leigh  herself." 

"  Oh,  Maurice,"  said  Winnie,  "  that  is  exactly 
the  kind  of  thing  that  puzzles  me,  and  that  I  can- 
not bear.  It  is  like  what  Uncle  O'Brien  told  me 
about  the  pictures  in  our  eyes.  He  said  we,  none 
of  us,  see  the  same  world,  or,  indeed,  see  the  world 
at  all,  but  only  a  photograph  of  it  in  our  eyes. 
Yet  there  is  a  world  outside,  I  am  quite  sure ;  for 
if  you  or  I  fell  into  the  fire,  we  should  both  be 
burned ;  and  we  could  not  be  burned  in  a  photo- 
graph in  our  eyes.  There  is  a  world,  and  there  is 
Grace  Leigh,  for  she  painted  those  words;  so, 
please,  tell  me  about  her." 

"  You  decline  metaphysics,"  he  said.  "  But  I 
was  not  talking  metaphysics,  but  remarking  a  plain 
fact  which  you  will  have  to  learn.  Portrait  paint- 
ers cannot  paint  like  the  sun,  because  they  see  not 
with  the  eyes  only,  but  the  mind,  and  they  paint 
not  with  colors  only,  but  with  the  soul.  And  so 
when  we  describe  other  people's  characters,  we 
often  unconsciously  describe  ourselves  far  more 
than  the  people  we  are  speaking  of.  Especially 
when  'we  speak  of  their  motives,  or  our  suspicions 
about  them." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Winnie.  "  Perhaps  that  is 
often  the  reason  why  Kosalie  finds  fault  with  me." 

"Not  a  safe  conclusion,  little  sister,"  was  the 
reply ;  "  you  should  always  take  your  moral  illus- 
trations from  the  other  side  ;  for  example,  *  That  is 
why  I  find  fault  with  Rosalie.' " 

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7 6  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

"  That  is  rather  terrible,  however,"  said  Winnie,  i 
meditatively.     "  Perhaps  when    we  think  we  are 
very  clever,  and  have  found  out  some  one's  faults, 
some  one   else  who  is  cleverer,  is  reading  our  faults 
in  our  fault-finding." 

"Very  probably,"  said  Maurice.  "All  the  por- 
traits men  draw  of  each  other  are  mirrors  as  well 
as  portraits.  But  not  only  mirrors,"  he  continued ; 
"  I  did  not  say  we  saw  only  our  own  characters  in 
other  people's,  but  that  we  only  see  as  much  as  our 
characters  enable  us  to  see.  And  therefore,  I  would 
rather  not  try  to  describe  Grace  Leigh  to  you ;  par- 
ticularly, Grace  Leigh,"  he  added,"  because  I  am 
learning  every  month  to  see  more  in  her  myself." 

"  Is  she  very  clever  then  ?"  said  Winnie. 

"  I  should  not  have  thought  of  calling  her  ex- 
actly clever,"  he  said ;  "  and  yet  I  remember  one 
day,  Mr.  Leigh's  landlady,  Mrs.  Treherne,  told  me 
Miss  Leigh  was  as  clever  as  a  college-gentleman, 
for  she  could  read  Greek.  But  when  I  asked  Grace, 
she  said  it  was  only  with  helping  Harry;  and 
Homer  was  so  beautiful,  with  the  heroes  and  sea,  it 
was  impossible  to  help  getting  to  understand  him." 

"  Grace  Leigh  reads  Greek !"  said  Winnie,  awed 
to  a  respectable  distance ;  "  and  I  only  read  a  little 
French.  But  who  is  Harry,  and  who  is  Mrs. 
Treherne  ?" 

"Mrs.  Treherne  is  the  greengrocer  who  keeps 
the  shop  over  which  Mr.  Leigh  lives,  and  Harry  is 
Grace's  only  brother,  four  years  younger  than  her- 
self. And  she  loves  him  and  takes  care  of  him  like 
a  little  mother." 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  77 

"  Then  she  is  good,  at  all  events,"  said  Winnie, 
"  good,  and  reads  Greek.  But  does  any  one  who 
reads  Greek  live  over  a  greengrocer's  shop  ?"  said 
Winnie,  in  some  perplexity;  "however,  at  all 
events,  Maurice,  you  can  tell  me  whether  she  is 
tall  and  pretty,  and  what  color  her  eyes  and 
hair  are  ?" 

"  Indeed,  I  cannot,"  said  Maurice ;  "  I  never 
thought  what  color  her  eyes  are.  People  have 
such  different  ideas  about  color.  Homer  calls  the 
sea  wine-colored,  and  there  has  been  much  discus- 
sion as  to  what  he  could  mean,  because,  you  know, 
some  wines  are  golden,  and  some  are  ruby,  and 
certainly  the  sea  is  neither." 

"Ah,"  said  Winnie,  decisively,  "that  is  easily 
explained.  Homer  was  blind.  Auntie  told  me  so, 
one  day." 

"Excuse  me,  little  sister,"  he  replied,  with  a 
grave  little  smile,  "  that  is  a  kind  of  criticism  we 
do  not  apply  to  poets  who  lived  three  thousand 
years  ago.  .When  a  poet  of  our  own  times  says 
something  the  critics  do  not  understand,  they 
naturally  say,  poor  man,  he  is  blind.  But  when  a 
poet  has  been  dead  a  thousand  years,  or  so,  we  try 
to  understand  what  he  means.  And  in  that  way 
sometimes  we  find  it  was  we  who  were  blind,  and 
learn  to  see." 

"  But  what  has  that  to  do  with  Grace  Leigh's 
eyes  ?"  asked  Winnie. 

"  Just  this,"  he  replied.  "  One  day,  when  I  was 
looking  up  at  her,  I  thought  I  understood  what 
Homer  meant  by  calling  the  sea  wine-colored.  He 


7g    '  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

did  not  think  of  its  color  so  much  as  of  its  depth 
and  transparency.  He  meant  I  think,  that  it  was 
dark  and  bright,  impenetrable  and  clear.  And  that 
is  what  Grace  Leigh's  eyes  are  Sometimes  they 
seem  an  entrance  into  an  unfathomable  world  of 
thought,  and  sometimes  they  shine  as  if  all  her  heart 
lay  open  in  them  like  a  little  child's." 

"  Well,"  said  Winnie,  "  I  can  always  tell  what 
color  the  sea  is,  and  what  color  people's  eyes  are. 
The  sea  is  blue,  and  sometimes  it  is  green;  and 
when  I  see  Grace  Leigh  I  shall  know  what  color 
her  eyes  are.  And  her  hair  ?" 

"  It  must  be  fair,  I  suppose,"  said  Maurice,  "  be- 
cause her  face  always  reminds  me  of  one  of  Raph- 
ael's early  pictures  of  the  Madonna  in  the  Louvre." 

"Let  me  see,"  said  Winnie,  counting  over  her 
information,  "  Grace  Leigh  reads  Greek,  and  is  a 
mother  to  her  little  brother,  and  her  hair  is  like  a 
picture  of  Raphael's,  and  her  eyes  are  wine-colored, 
or  like  the  sea.  And  she  painted  me  that  beautiful 
text.  Oh,  Maurice,  when  can  I  see  her  ?" 

"  This  evening,  perhaps,"  said  Maurice,  "  we  will 
see." 

And  Winnie  clapped  her  hands  with  delight,  and 
on  the  subject  of  Grace  Leigh  was  satisfied. 

"  And  now,  Maurice,"  she  resumed,  "  about  the 
Five  Worlds.  When  I  said  one  day — oh,  so  long 
ago ! — that  I  had  come  to  the  end  of  the  world, 
you  said  you  knew  five  worlds,  and  that  you  had 
scarcely  got  beyond  the  beginning  of  any  of  them." 

"  Did  I  say  only  five  ?"  he  said. 

"  At  least  five,  I  think  you  said,  Maurice." 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  79 

"  Then  I  must  have  been  thinking  about  the  Ex- 
panding Palace,"  he  said. 

"  What  is  that?"  she  asked. 

"  It  is  the  other  side  of  the  story  of  the  Con- 
tracting Chamber,"  he  replied. 

"  Oh,  tell  me  then,  at  once,"  she  said,  settling 
herself  into  an  attitude  of  enrapt  listening,  with 
her  chin  on  the  palm  of  her  hand,  gazing  up  into 
his  face. 

"  But  it  is  an  allegory,  Winnie." 

"  I  do  not  care.  Call  it  anything  you  like.  Only 
begin." 

And  Maurice  began : 

THE    EXPANDING   PALACE. 

"  All  the  dwejlers  in  the  palace  of  the  Queen  I  told 
you  of  were  not  faithless  to  their  trust.  I  will  tell 
you  the  history  of  one  who  was  faithful  to  it.  Her 
name  was  Ethel.  Her  especial  charge  were  the 
orphan  little  giuls  of  those  who  had  died  belonging 
to  the  Queen's  household.  Dearly  she  loved  her 
work,  and  dearly  the  little  forlorn  ones  loved  her. 
Every  afternoon,  when  her  attendance  at  the  Court 
permitted,  a  band  of  these  children  might  be  seen 
trooping  to  her  apartment.  There  she  welcomed 
them,  taught  them,  and  shared  their  plays,  and 
listened  to  all  their  little  confidences,  till  the  forlorn, 
unanswered,  orphaned  look  passed  from  the  little 
faces,  because  each  felt  there  was  one  in  the  world 
to  whom  all  their  little  interests,  and  joys,  and 
sorrows  were  not  childish  trifles,  but  matters  of 


8o  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

true,  hearty,  loving  interest.  Ethel  would  have 
laughed  if  any  one  had  talked  to  her  of  a  reward 
for  her  work  of  love.  The  work  was  her  joy,  and 
the  love  was  her  life.  But,  nevertheless,  or  rather 
all  the  more,  the  reward  came  naturally,  necessarily, 
inevitably,  as,  in  the  other  case,  the  punishment  of 
the  Contracting  Chamber. 

"  One  evening  Ethel  was  sitting  in  her  apartment 
alone  (when  the  children  were  asleep,  each  in  her 
own  nest),  in  that  happy  weariness  which  follows 
labors  of  love,  when  a  slight  click  attracted  her 
attention.  You  remember  that  these  apartments 
had  many  mirrors,  as  well  as  many  windows,  and 
that  in  the  process  of  contracting,  the  horror  of  her 
position  was  concealed  from  the  selfish  inmate  by 
the  transformation  of  the  windows  into  mirrors. 
Just  the  reverse  of  this  now  took  place  before  the 
eyes  of  Ethel.  Looking  around,  she  saw  that  the 
reflecting  metal  had  dropped  like  a  gauzy  veil  from 
one  of  these  mirrors,  and  that  it  had  become  a 
window  into  another  chamber,  or  rather  (as  she 
afterwards  ascertained)  into  another  world.  At  first 
there  was  a  dimness  about  the  light  from  within 
this  new  chamber;  but  gradually  beautiful  and 
strange  forms  revealed  themselves  to  her,  illumina- 
ted by  a  soft  magical  light,  pale  and  silvery,  like 
moonlight,  yet  with  a  kind  of  torch-like  splendor 
about  it.  She  longed  that  the  window  might  be- 
come a  door,  and  that  she  might  go  into  this  new 
world.  As  she  stood  and  gazed,  two  maidens  ap- 
peared beside  her,  clad  in  white  robes  pure  as  a  lily, 
and  glistening  with  a  silky  sheen.  The  one  was 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  81 

called  Humility ;  and  she  was  scarcely  more  than  a 
child,  and  her  eyes  had  a  happy  upward  look, 
because  she  was  always  rejoicing  in  something 
above  herself.  The  name  of  the  other  was  Love  ; 
and  her  eyes  had  a  sweet  downward  glance,  because 
she  was  always  watching  the  need  of  others  to  see 
how  she  could  serve.  And  in  their  hands  was  a 
key  which  they  gave  to  Ethel,  each  with  a  tender 
embrace,  Humility  with  the  clinging  caress  of  a 
child,  and  Love  with  the  tender  circling  of  a  mother's 
arms,  and  then  vanished." 

"  Did  they  leave  her  alone,  then  ?"  asked  Winnie. 
"  I  only  said  they  appeared  and  vanished,"  replied 
Maurice ;  "  I  believe  they  had  been  with  her  long 
before,  and  stayed  with  her  always  afterwards.  But 
they  vanished  from  her  sight.  Then  Ethel  took 
the  key.  The  name  engraven  on  it  was  Work  ; 
and  the  wards  were  difficult  to  fit  in.  She  could 
not  open  the  door  with  it  that  night,  nor  the  next ; 
but  she  was  persevering,  and  at  length  the  lock 
yielded.  All  at  once  with  a  spring  as  if  it  had  been 
the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  (as  you  will  find  with 
one  difficult  door  after  another,  if  you  persevere) 
the  magic  door  sprang  open,  and  the  new  World  lay 
free  to  her.  The  first  thing  before  her  was  a  long 
broad  flight  of  marble  steps.  When  she  had  de- 
scended these,  she  found  herself  in  a  broad  lofty  hall. 
For  this  world  was  subterranean.  It  lay  under- 
neath the  foundations  of  the  other  world.  On  it 
was  raised  the  Palace  of  Ethel's  Queen  ;  and,  indeed 
of  all  other  palaces  worth  the  name.  The  Hall  was 
full  of  statues  and  it  was  lighted  by  lamps  held  in 


82  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

the  hands  of  these  statues  ;  or  I  should  rather  say 
illuminated,  because  there  was  a  festive  splendor 
about  the  light,  as  if  it  were  an  illumination  in  honor 
of  some  perpetual,  stately  holiday.  Around  these 
statues  were  grouped  piles  of  armor,  implements 
of  toil,  models  of  cities,  paintings  of  landscapes  ; 
and  on  the  pedestal  of  each,  in  high  relief,  was 
sculptured  the  story  of  their  deeds.  But  save  for 
the  lamps  in  the  hands  of  these  stately,  silent, 
human  forms,  not  a  glimmer  of  light  would  have 
penetrated  the  place.  The  scenes  and  actions  were 
only  revealed  through  the  persons. 

"  But  as  Ethel  became  accustomed  to  the  place, 
she  perceived  that  this  great  hall  was  but  a  vesti- 
bule. On  all  sides  were  transparent  doors  like  the 
one  through  which  she  had  entered.  From  each 
streamed  the  same  pale,  still,  silvery  light,  but  when 
Ethel  applied  her  key  to  the  locks  she  found  the 
same  difficulty  as  with  the  first.  Each  gateway  of 
the  palace  required  a  separate  probation  before  it 
could  be  passed.  She  could  see,  indeed,  through 
the  transparent  doors,  but  to  enter  one  after  another 
and  make  acquaintance  with  the  stately  forms  en- 
shrined within  was  a  work  of  time.  It  was  much, 
however,  to  stand  thus  in  the  vestibule  and  gaze 
into  one  noble  hall  after  another,  and  yet  beyond 
again,  through  further  transparent  portals,  on 
through  avenues  of  stately  marble  forms  and  silvery 
lamps,  as  far  as  her  eye  could  reach.  Each  hall  had 
its  especial  destination.  The  generations  who  had 
lived  together  on  earth  were  gathered  together  in 
one  chamber  of  this  palace.  Kings  and  queens  sat 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  83 

there  enthroned  with  their  stony  diadems ;  conquer- 
ors and  martyrs  with  crowns  strangely  inter- 
changed, the  head  of  many  a  conqueror  being 
wreathed  with  funeral  cypress,  while  living  amaranth 
and  bay  were  intertwined  around  the  patient  brows 
of  the  sufferers  for  truth.  Great  orators  were  there, 
their  faces  eloquent  with  the  last  burning  words 
which  had  parted  from  their  mute  lips  ;  and  holy 
men  and  women,  bearing  neither  crowns  nor  lamps 
because  a  glory  beamed  from  their  high  pure  brows, 
which  was  better  than  a  diadem,  or  any  illumination 
from  without." 

"  Was  it  all  silent  in  this  palace  ?"  asked  Winnie. 
"  Could  not  any  of  these  stately  figures  be  ques* 
tioned  or  answered  ?" 

"  None  could  be  questioned  or  give  any  answer," 
said  Maurice,  "  except  by  the  language  of  the 
records  of  their  deeds  immutably  sculptured  and 
grouped  around  them.  An  d>  all  the  palace  would 
have  been  silent,  save  that  in  almost  every  hall 
stood  some  form  beautiful  beyond  the  rest,  though 
seldom  draped  in  any  but  the  simple  clothing  of 
the  people,  crowned,  not  with  dead  di'adems  of  stone, 
but  with  a  living  fragrant  wreath  of  fresh  leaves 
and  flowers,  from  whose  parted  lips  floated  from 
time  to  time  soft  strains  of  song.  And  when  those 
were  heard,  a  strange  magic  life  seemed  to  breathe 
through  the  mute  forms  around ;  the  warrior's  mar- 
ble hand  stirred  to  his  sword,  the  brows  of  kings 
gathered  a  compelling  majesty,  the  faces  of  saints 
beamed  with  the  smile  of  joy  and  love.  Four 
especially  of  these  Ethel  observed.  Two  had 


84  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

solemn  upturned  faces,  and  sang  of  tilings  above 
and  below  and  afar  off,  unseen  and  eternal ;  and  two 
had  broad  open  brows,  and  countenances  which 
seemed  to  gather  all  the  dim  struggling  life  around 
them  to  themselves,  and  give  it  back  made  clear 
and  beautiful.  Yet  of  each  of  these  immortal  pairs 
one  was  blind ;  and  the  voice  of  one,  familiar  and 
faltering  as  its  tones  seemed  to  Ethel,  came  from 
the  very  furthest  recesses  of  the  palace,  mingled 
with  the  dull  far-off  murmur  of  the  river  of  forget- 
fulness,  which  flows  round  all,  on  which  the  golden- 
thorned  Olympians  look  down  from  their  snowy 
peaks,  and  whose  murmurs  mingle  with  the  low 
plash  of  the  waters  from  the  other  side,  with  which 
the  ancient  Norns  water  the  roots  of  the  tree  of 
life ; — from  the  fountain  where  the  white  swans  float, 
and  near  which  the  old  serpents  coil." 

"  That  blind  singer  was  Homer,  I  think,"  said 
Winnie,  meditatively  ;  "  I  wish  I  were  as  wise  as 
Grace  Leigh  or  Ethel  that  I  might  hear  him 
too." 

"  So,"  continued  Maurice,  "  Ethel  listened  and 
gazed  ;  and  she  learned  that  but  for  the  light  borne 
by  great  and  good  men  and  women,  all  that  great 
palace  of  glory  and  beauty  would  have  been  dark 
and  impenetrable  as  a  tomb  ;  and  but  for  the  voices 
of  the  poets  it  would  have  been  as  silent.  Won- 
dering and  reverent  she  passed  once  more  by  the 
stately  statues  of  the  vestibule  and  up  the  marble 
stairs ;  and  when  she  re-entered  her  apartments  it 
was  dawn.  She  had  come  up  from  the  great  Palace 
of  the  Past." 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  85 

"  That  was  one  of  the  Five  Worlds,"  said  Winnie. 
"And  then?" 

"  Some  evenings  afterwards,"  said  Maurice,  "  the 
mysterious  veil  dropped  from  another  mirror.  The 
two  white-robed  forms  appeared  to  Ethel  again, 
presented  her  with  another  key,  vanished  as  before, 
and  left  Ethel  standing  before  what  seemed  a  temple 
of  a  thousand  columns,  through  which  she  looked 
into  the  starry  sky  and  across  a  beach  of  silvery 
sand  to  the  sea.  From  inside  this  door  she  could 
see  nothing  very  new  or  strange,  only  the  same 
glorious  friendly  stars  she  had  wondered  at  from 
infancy,  the  same  waves  she  had  played  with,  the 
same  sands  she  had  dug  and  heaped  into  mimic  for- 
tresses, or  lakes  and  islands.  It  was  not  till  after 
many  trials  that  the  lock  of  this  door  gave  way. 
But  when  she*  was  once  through  it  she  found  herself 
in  a  world  of  wonders — all  the  more  wonderful 
because  every  object  was  so  familiar.  A  veil  seemed 
to  have  dropped,  not  only  from  the  mirror,  but  from 
her  eyes.  She  found  that  what  had  seemed  a 
temple  was  in  fact  but  a  portico  to  the  great  Tem- 
ple beyond ;  and  this  temple  was  none  other  than 
the  old  familiar  world.  The  blue  arch  of  sky  which 
had  spanned  the  earth  of  her  childhood  expanded 
into  an  ocean  of  space,  and  the  twinkling  starry 
lamps  were  unveiled  into  worlds,  suns  of  many 
worlds.  One  mild  planet  floated  above  her,  fair 
and  bright  as  the  moon,  with  other  silvery  moons 
circling  round  it.  From  beneath  the  sea  shone 
countless  phosphorescent  fires,  and  many  voices 
sounded,  not  of  breaking  waves  only,  but  of  living 
8 


86  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

creatures,  each  with  its  separate  history.  Every 
pool  among  the  rocks  expanded  into  a  world  of  life, 
peopled  with  tiny  glancing  fish  and  starry  zoophytes, 
and  branching  ruby  coralline.  From  the  ledges  of 
the  cliffs  came  the  murmurs  of  the  sea-birds  brood- 
ing over  their  nests — every  nest  a  home,  every 
feather  of  every  nestling  a  wpnder  of  delicate 
mechanism.  And  over,  and  through,  and  beneath 
all  this  hum  and  stir  of  life,  Ethel  heard  the  steady 
vibrations  of  the  great  mechanism  of  the  world,  the 
ebb  and  flow  of  tides,  the  revolving  of  suns,  and 
moons,  and  stars,  the  ceaseless  transformations  of 
the  elements  of  things  ;  the  grand  march  of  the 
worlds  around  some  mysterious  unknown  centre ; 
the  changeless  tide  of  Law  which  is  ever  encoun- 
tering the  varying  currents  of  Life.  And  as  she 
gazed  her  heart  sank  before  the  infinity  around  her; 
she  shrank  to  a  point  in  the  boundless  universe  ; 
until  once  more  looking  up,  she  saw  that  deeper 
than  Law  and  at  the  heart  of  Life,  interpenetrating 
and  inspiring  all,  flowed  the  great  light-ocean  of 
Love.  And  she  made  melody  in  her  heart,  and 
sang,  t  No  more  a  point  in  the  infinite  universe,  but 
a  child  close  to  Thy  boundless  heart.'  Then  she 
turned  back  silently  through  the  columned  portico 
of  the  great  temple  reverent  and  wondering.  For 
through  the  portico  of  Science,  with  its  thousand 
pillars,  she  had  entered  into  the  temple  of  nature." 

"  I  understand  a  little  of  it,"  said  Winnie,  slowly. 
"  It  makes  me  feel  very  little  and  ignorant,  Maurice, 
yet  I  like  it.  Go  on." 

"  The  third  discovery,"  he   continued,   "  came  to 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  87 

Ethel  in  the  morning.  She  had  wakened  early, 
while  all  was  still  gray  in  the  morning  twilight 
when  from  a  mirror  opposite  her  the  veil  dropped 
suddenly,  and  a  glorious  flush  of  dawn  burst  on  her 
eyes.  Behind  rich  purple  draperies  of  cloud  the 
face  of  the  morning  shone  on  Ethel,  it  seemed 
to  her,  with  altogether  a  new  beauty.  She  arose, 
and  dressing  quickly,  stood  with  clasped  hands  and 
a  face  full  of  wondering  joy  before  this  new  world. 
Dawn  deepened  into  day  as  she  looked,  and  every- 
thing in  the  chamber  within  sobered  into  common 
practical  light  to  work  by,  but  still  that  glorious 
flush  of  morning  glowed  on  the  world  which  spread 
before  her  outside  that  new  window.  She  looked 
across  a  country  rich  as  Paradise,  with  everything 
that  was  pleasant  to  the  eye.  Close  at  her  feet  lay 
a  garden,  where  grew  every  variety  of  delicate  and 
gorgeous  flower,  mingled  with  thickets  of  myrtle, 
oleander,  and  pomegranate,  and  winding  spaces  of 
soft  turf;  beyond  stretched  an  undulating  plain, 
broken  by  stately  forests,  and  watered  by  a  river 
which  flowed  from  a  range  of  snow-peaked  mountains 
in  the  distance,  and  which  brought  down  the  crimson 
glory  from  their  peaks  in  many  lake-like  reaches  to 
the  plain.  But  what  arrested  Ethel's  gaze  was  a 
City  with  a  Hundred  Towers,  which  rose  beside  this 
river.  Its  walls  flashed  back  the  light  in  a  thousand 
hues,  as  if  they  were  translucent  like  precious 
stones  ;  its  roofs  shone  like  gold,  and  delicate  pinna- 
cles and  minarets  sprang  from  them  here  and  there 
like  fretted  ivory.  While  Ethel  was  still  standing 
thinking,  the  two  white-robed  maidens  appeared  to 


88  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

her  once  more,  presented  her  with  a  golden  key,  and 
vanished.  To  Ethel's  delight  this  door  yielded 
more  easily  than  the  others,  and  the  instant  it  was 
opened  quite  a  flood  of  aromatic  perfumes,  and 
music  dreamy  and  delicious  as  the  perfumes, 
streamed  in  upon  her.  There  was  no  lifeless  silence 
in  this  new  world.  The  music  was  from  the  songs 
of  multitudes  of  birds  hidden  among  the  forests, 
from  the  flow  of  the  countless  streams  which  spar- 
kled and  danced  towards  the  river,  blended  with 
far-off  mystic  harmonies  of  instruments  and  human 
voices  from  the  City  of  a  Hundred  Towers.  The 
perfumes  floated  from  a  sea  of  flowers  and  fragrant 
shrubs,  blended  with  some  fine  aromatic  scent,  as  if 
from  costly  woods  kindled  by  human  hands.  Both 
sounds  and  scents  drew  Ethel's  steps  insensibly  on 
towards  the  city.  But  when  she  reached  it  she  found 
the  city  was  one  great  palace.  At  the  entrance 
she  perceived  a  fountain,  in  which  she  bathed  her 
hands  and  eyes.  As  she  wandered  through  the 
halls  everything  she  had  seen  in  the  subterranean 
palace,  and  in  the  temple  by  the  boundless  sea,  as 
in  the  beautiful  world  around  the  city,  seemed 
mirrored  and  glorified  here.  The  forms  of  the  old 
heroes  seemed  to  breathe  once  more  in  these  enchant- 
ed chambers  :  the  stars  shone  with  a  new  splendor 
through  the  golden  air,  which,  while  radiant  as  day 
was  clear  and  transparent  as  night.  And  when  she 
looked  through  those  palace  windows  at  the  moun- 
tains, and  woods,  and  waters  of  the  world  outside,  it 
seemed  to  her  as  if  she  had  scarcely  seen  them 
before,  so  wonderfully  did  fresh  beauty  beam  back  on 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  89 

her  from  every  natural  thing.  After  a  time  she 
found  that  the  two  chief  wonders  of  the  palace  were 
its  magic  windows,  through  which  all  the  old  world 
shone  with  a  new  glory  ;  and  its  magic  mirrors, 
which  brought  the  beautiful  things  of  the  outer 
world,  and  of  the  subterranean  palace,  and  of  the 
temple  by  the  sea  into  this  City  of  Beauty — and 
which,  at  the  touch  of  a  certain  magic  wand  (which 
was  not  in  her  hand,  but  waved  for  her  by  one  who 
went  with  her  as  a  guide),  ceased  to  be  mere 
mirrors,  and  became  exquisite  miniature  worlds,  with 
mimic  reproductions  of  those  old  subterranean  halls 
where  the  marble  forms  no  longer  sat  mutely,  with 
stony  eyes,  enthroned  on  their  pedestals,  but 
breathed,  and  moved,  and  looked,  and  spoke. 
"And  when  Ethel  left  the  palace  and  returned 
through  the  plains  and  gardens  to  her  home,  to  her 
joy  she  saw  that  the  glory  thrown  on  the  outside 
world  did  not  fade  away  like  a  dream,  but  rested 
on  everything  still.  Then  she  understood  that  the 
fountain  had  opened  her  eyes  to  a  reality,  not  de- 
luded her  with  a  dream.  And  with  a  thankful 
heart  she  went  about  her  daily  work,  and  saw  every 
common  thing  around  her  clothed  with  a  new 
beauty.  For  she  had  been  in  the  Palace  of  Art ; 
and  the  work  of  true  Art,  as  much  as  of  true 
Science,  is  not  to  veil  but  to  unveil." 

"  I  am  glad  the  door  of  that  Third  World  was 
the  easiest  to  unlock,"  said  Winnie,  "  for  I  like  it 
the  best  of  all." 

"  It  is  the  easiest  world  to  enter  as  a  spectator," 
he  replied ;  "  but  the  magic  wand  which  opens  its 
8* 


9o  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

wonders  to  others  is  the  gift  of  but  few,  and  the 
perseverance  necessary  to  earn  the  skill  to  wield  it 
is  the  possession  of  fewer  still." 

"  It  is  more  like  a  fairy  tale  than  the  rest  were," 
said  Winnie. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  and  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  as 
Ethel  came  back  from  the  palace  she  caught 
glimpses  of  the  white  robes  of  nymphs  among  the 
stems  of  the  forest  trees,  and  in  the  green  glades 
not  far-off  saw  more  than  once  the  glancing  of  the 
feet  of  tiny,  fairy  folk  feasting  and  dancing  on  the 
dewy  turf,  and  mingling  their  low,  silvery  laughter 
with  the  deeper  music  of  the  place." 

"  I  do  not  expect  to  like  either  of  the  two  other 
worlds  as  much  as  that,"  said  Winnie,  "  but  tell  me 
about  them." 

"Both  of  these,"  Maurice  replied,  "had  been 
open  to  Ethel  long  before  the  date  when  this  story 
began.  The  fourth  mirror-window  was  a  door 
which  stood  orJen  all  day  long,  not  only  for  Ethel 
to  go  out,  but  for  other  people,  especially  the  chil- 
dren, to  come  in.  This  door  opened  on  the  outside 
of  the  Queen's  Palace,  on  the  slopes  which  led  to 
the  great  city  of  the  people,  and  through  it  came 
the  sound  of  human  voices,  not  always  joyous; 
echoes  of  marriage-bells  and  of  the  slow  tolling 
which  beats  time  to  the  slow  tread  of  mourners ; 
voices  of  weeping,  and  of  toil,  and  of  eager  con- 
tention ;  the  sharp  tones  of  those  who  inflicted 
wrong,  and  the  bitter  cry  of  those  who  suffered 
wrong ;  the  long  low  wail  of  disappointed  hope ; 
the  shriek  of  fear ;  mingled  with  happy,  innocent 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  gl 

laughter,  and  songs  of  thanksgiving,  and  lullabies 
over  cradles.  That  was  no  door  at  which  Ethel 
could  stand  and  gaze ;  it  was  a  door  for  going  out 
to  help,  and  coming  in  for  shelter  and  kindness. 
For  no  one  could  ever  bear  to  listen  long  at  that 
gate  unless  they  make  it  a  gate  of  mercy.  Any 
who  stand  listening  there  in  listless  dreaming  will 
soon  weary ;  and  the  door  will  close,  and  they  will 
turn  to  the  other  worlds  to  dream  there.  And 
then  the  Expanding  Palace  will  become  once  more 
the  Contracting  Chamber." 

"  But,"  said  Winnie,  musing,  "  it  seems  to  me  if 
once  that  Door  is  opened  one  would  have  no  time 
for  any  of  the  rest,  scarcely  to  look  through  them, 
much  less  go  in.  There  must  be  so  endlessly  much 
to  do  in  that  city." 

"  Many  find  it  so,"  said  Maurice,  smiling.  "  Very 
few  indeed  do  find  time  to  enter  more  than  one  or 
two  of  these  worlds,  or  at  all  events  to  step 
beyond  the  threshold.  But  it  is  good  to  know 
that  they  are  there,  and  to  look  through  the  win- 
dows into  them,  even  if  it  be  only  with  a  passing 
glance.  It  clears  the  eyes  and  strengthens  the 
hands  for  much  that  has  to  be  done  in  the  city 
below,  in  the  actual  world  of  human  life." 

"  But  there  is  the  Fifth  World,"  said  Winnie. 

"  That  was  the  one  which  was  opened  to  Ethel 
first  of  all,"  said  Maurice.  "  There  was  an  inner- 
most chamber  into  which  no  one  could  enter  but 
herself;  and  at  the  end  of  that  chamber  was  a 
transparent  door,  covered  with  heavy  folds  of 
purple  drapery  which  none  but  an  unseen  hand 


92  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

could  lift.  But  that  hand  was  always  ready  at  her 
call.  What  she  saw  when  that  curtain  was  with- 
drawn was  better  than  all  the  glories  of  the  Four 
Worlds  beside.  From  it  rose  a  flight  of  stairs 
white  as  snow,  and  glistening  as  light.  And  up 
and  down  these  steps  glorious  happy  beings  came 
and  went  to  an  open  gate  at  the  top — a  wide,  open 
gateway  in  the  crystal  walls  of  the  Golden  City. 
Everything  fair  she  had  seen  in  the  other  worlds 
was  here,  not  in  form  or  image,  but  in  glorious 
reality.  The  stately  forms  of  the  great  Past  were 
there,  no  longer  stony  silent  statues,  but  living  and 
perfected*  She  caught  glimpses  of  them  now  and 
then  moving  through  golden  streets,  encouraging 
her  to  come.  Below  the  City,  stretched  far-off 
spaces  of  worlds  unveiled  as  they  had  never  been 
in  the  Temple  by  the  Sea.  Over  all  streamed  a 
glory  warm  and  life-giving,  such  as  had  never 
shone  on  the  Palace  of  Art.  The  shadows  of 
leaves,  and  the  gleam  of  golden  fruits  mingled 
with  the  glories  within  that  gate,  and  breathed 
their  perfume  even  to  her  as  she  knelt  outside  and 
gazed.  And  the  City  was  as  full  of  human  life  as 
the  city  below  the  Queen's  Palace,  the  voices  that 
sounded  thence  were  tender  with  past  tears,  though 
never  broken  more  by  sorrow  or  pain.  And  from 
within  the  gate,  now  and  then,  she  thought  one 
and  another  glorious  face  was  turned  to  her  with 
welcoming  looks,  and  the  lips  parted  as  soft  mur- 
murs of  speech  came  down  to  her;  and  though 
she  could  not  hear  the  words,  she  knew  they  were 
encouraging  her  to  come." 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  93 

"  But  she  could  not  go,"  said  Winnie,  her  eye 
lashes  drooping  far  over  her  cheek. 

"  No,  this  door  was  not  one  for  going  in  and  out 
at,"  said  Maurice  in  a  low  voice.  "Those  that 
once  entered  in  came  back  through  it  no  more. 
And  the  key  was  never  given  to  any  hand  but  one." 

"  I  suppose  they  never  wished  to  come  back," 
said  Winnie  very  softly,  for  tears  were  gathering 
under  the  drooping  lids. 

"  Never,  that  I  heard,"  replied  Maurice.  "  All 
the  broken  glories  of  all  the  other  worlds  were 
gathered  together  in  this  one  ;  and  made  living  in 
the  loving  Presence  which  was  the  Life  of  all.  And 
thus  it  was  made  up  richly  there  to  those  who  had 
given  up  so  much  of  their  strength  and  time  below 
to  the  world  of  human  need  and  sorrow  that  they 
had  left  themselves  little  for  the  worlds  of  the 
Past,  or  of  Science,  or  of  Art." 

Then  Winnie  rose,  and  creeping  to  Maurice's 
side,  murmured,  "  I  think  I  know  in  whose  hand 
the  Key  of  that  World  is  kept !" 

A  silence  of  some  minutes  followed,  which  was 
broken  by  the  announcement  that  a  poor  little  girl 
was  wanting  to  see  Miss  Winifred.  In  an  instant 
Winnie  was  recalled  into  the  actual  world.  She 
knew  quite  well  who  it  was,  and  suddenly  leaving 
Maurice  she  flew  upstairs  to  collect  the  presents 
she  had!  been  buying  or  making  for  little  Fan. 
She  soon  came  down  with  her  hands  and  arms  full 
with  a  warm  frock  (which  she  considered  hardly 
a  present  at  all,  being  only  a  necessary  thing) ;  a 


94  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

beautiful  Bible  for  Dan ;  and  what  Winnie  thought 
would  enchant  Fan,  a  doll  with  clothes  to  take  off 
and  on,  and  a  doll's  bed  to  correspond. 

She  came  into  the  servants'  hall  where  little  Fan 
was,  laid  the  gifts  on  the  table,  and  then  was  seized 
with  a  fit  of  shyness ;  for  Fan  had  begun  to  learn 
manners,  and  stood  courtesying  in  an  indiscrimi- 
nate way  which  perplexed  Winnie  very  much  what 
to  do  next. 

At  length  she  said  : 

"  Those  are  for  you,  little  Fan,  the  frock  and  the 
doll ;  and  the  book  is  for  Dan." 

Fan's  eyes  sparkled  at  this  last  announcement, 
and  without  venturing  to  touch  the  treasure  she 
said: 

"  Brother  Dan  can  read  out  of  that,  he  gets 
on  wonderful  with  his  learning,  the  doctor  says, 
Dan  do." 

The  frock  also  was  received  with  unfeigned  de- 
light, as  soon  as  Fan  took  in  the  idea  she  was  to 
wear  it.  But  she  seemed  still  to  give  no  attention 
to  the  doll. 

"Don't  you  li^e  this,  Fan?"  said  Winnie  at 
length,  rather  disappointed ;  "  I  made  its  clothes 
myself— at  least  Rosalie  and  I  did ;  and  they  take 
on  and  off,  and  the  bed  .has  a  real  bolster,  and 
pillows,  and  a  mattress." 

Still  Fan  looked  very  grave,  and  seemed  rather 
awed  than  delighted. 

At  last  she  said  when  Winnie  laid  it  in  her  arms : 

"  It  won't  hurt  it  not  to  undress  it,  will  it  ?  Dan 
wouldn't  like  it  to  be  hurt  if  you  gave  it  to  me." 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  95 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  Winnie  quite  per- 
plexed. "  It  is  a  plaything,  little  Fan  ;  you  are  to 
play  with  it." 

"  But  I  don't  know  how,"  said  little  Fan  color- 
ing. "  I  hadn't  never  time  to  play." 

"You  don't  know  how  to  play,  little  Fan?" 
exclaimed  Winnie,  at  first  seriously  inspecting  Fan, 
in  the  fear  she  was  not  right  in  her  mind. 

"  I'd  always  got  to  mind  aunt's  baby,"  said  Fan 
apologetically.  "  Dan  played  at  marbles  between 
whiles  with  the  boys  in  the  court,  but  there  weren't 
nowhere  for  me  to  play,  and  there  weren't  no 
time." 

Slowly  the  thought  of  that  motherless,  joyless 
childhood  rose  before  Winnie ;  and  as  she  looked 
at  the  thin,  pale,  cold  little  face,  she  said,  with 
quivering  lips : 

"  Oh,  little  Fan,  not  to  know  how  to  play  !  How 
very  unhappy  you  must  have  been  !  how  unkind 
they  must  have  been  !" 

"It  weren't  always  so  bad,"  said  Fan,  cheerily, 
"  there  was  always  brother  Dan.  Aunt  weren't 
always  cross.  She  did  hit  about  sometimes,  but 
sometimes  she  giv'd  me  a  ha'penny  for  sweets; 
and  the  lady  who  kept  the  greengrocer's  shop  gave 
me  an  orange  many  times  for  me  aiid  Dan.  And 
aunt's  baby  was  good  sometimes,  and  didn't  cry 
for  an  hour  together;  and  sometimes  he'd  crow 
quite  pretty.  Some  of  the  girls  in  our  court  had 
shuttlecocks ;  but  the  big  boys  hit  about  them 
dreadful  sometimes  when  the  little  ones  came  in 
their  way,  and  I  felt  safer  like  with  baby  on  the 


96  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

door-step.  And  then,"  she  concluded — ended  as 
she  had  begun  with  the  joy  of  her  life—"  there 
was  always  Dan !" 

Winnie's  heart  began  to  revive,  and  a  dim  hope 
to  creep  in,  as  she  listened  to  little  Fan's  patient 
and  cheery  view  of  things,  that  after  all  God  might 
have  kept  some  little  bit  of  joy  for  every  little 
child,  and  did  perhaps  provide  all  those  who  took 
things  patiently  with  something  that  answered 
both  for  play  and  study.  A  baby  that  could  crow 
and  didn't -always  cry  had  certainly  some  claims 
against  a  doll.  And  then  the  consolatory  thought 
further  occurred  to  her : 

"  Then,  little  Fan,  you  had  no  French  lessons  ?" 

Fan's  views  on  this  subject,  however,  entirely 
varied  from  Winnie's.  Her  face  lighted  up,  and 
she  said  triumphantly : 

"  But  I  am  to  have  lessons  though !  There's 
such  good  news  come.  When  Dan  gets  well  he's 
to  be  the  baker's  boy.  And  the  lady  who  keeps 
the  greengrocer's  shop  says  I  may  mind  her  baby. 
And  I  am  to  go  to  school  for  an  hour  or  two  every 
day  besides  till  I  can  read  like  Dan.  And  I'm  to 
sweep  out  Miss  Grace's  room.  And  ain't  Miss 
Grace's  room  beautiful  ?" 

As  the  vision  of  the  tiny  figure  wielding  a  baby, 
or  a  broom,  rose  before  Winnie,  she  began  to  feel 
that  a  doll  and  a  doll's  bed  were  altogether  too 
childish  gifts  for  a  young  woman  of  such  preten- 
sions;  and  when  she  proposed  giving  her  some- 
thing else  instead,  Fan  was  certainly  relieved 
at  being  delivered  from  the  charge  of  a  young 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  97 

lady  of  such  very  high  toilette  requirements  as  jthe 
doll. 

"  But  who  is  Miss  Grace,  little  Fan  ?"  Winnie 
asked,  when  the  question  of  the  doll  was  settled — 
her  curiosity  being  highly  excited  by  the  resem- 
blance of  the  name  to  that  of  Maurice's  friend,  and 
her  friend  that  was  to  be. 

"  It's  Miss  Grace  the  parson's  daughter,  who 
lives  over  the  shop,"  said  Fan. 

"Over  the  greengrocer's  shop!  It's  the  very 
same,"  concluded  Winnie,  decisively.  "  What  is 
she  like,  little  Fan  ?" 

Fan  retreated  into  herself,  silenced  at  this  call 
on  her  descriptive  powers.  At  last  she  looked  up, 
and  said : 

"  She  speaks  soft,  and  kind  like  you,  but  graver 
like.  And  she  do  sing,  Miss  Grace  do.  She  come 
once  to  Dan's  bedside  and  sang  him  a  hymn ;  and 
he  said  it  must  be  like  they  sang  in  heaven.  And 
she  sews,"  continued  Fan.  "  The  lady  in  the  green- 
grocer's shop  says  she  sews  beautiful,  and  she  says 
she'll  teach  me — Miss  Grace  will — and  I'm  to  make 
Dan's  shirts."  And  Fan's  little  thin  face  quite 
beamed  at  the  thought  of  the  happiness  before 
her. 

Winnie  cast  one  lingering  look  of  disappoint- 
ment on  the  doll  she  had  spent  so  many  happy 
hours  in  dressing  for  little  Fan ;  b*ut  she  took  it 
away  and  soon  returned  with  a  fairy  rose-bush  in  a 
flower-pot,  which  was  an  especial  treasure  of  her 
own,  and  told  Fan  that  was  for  her  and  Dan. 

For  a  minute  the  child  stood  speechless; 
9 


98  WINIFRED  BERTRAM. 

then  tears  came  into  her  eyes,  and  she  murmured, 
in  a  broken  voice  : 

"  Dan'll  see  them  growing  !  Brother  Dan'll  see 
'em  grow !" 

Winnie  returned  with  a  very  happy  but  a  very 
thoughtful  face  to  Maurice.  He  was  still  alone, 
writing  letters;  and  going  up  to  him,  she  said 
in  a  low  trembling  voice,  her  face  crimson  with 
eagerness : 

"  Oh,  Maurice,  can  it  be  that  the  door  into  the 
city  below  the  palace  has  opened  for  me,  even  for 
me — the  door  at  which  you  go  in  and  out ;  the 
best  door  of  all,  but  one  ?  Can  it  be,  Maurice  ? 
And  if  it  is,  what  can  I  do  that  it  may  never  be 
closed  again  ?" 

"  Going  out  and  welcoming  others  in  through  it 
is  the  sure  way  to  keep  it  open,"  said  Maurice. 
"  It  is  always  either  narrower  and  narrower  with 
us,  or  wider  and  wider,  day  by  day,  for  ever  and 
ever." 

"  And  when  we  get  through  that  last  door," 
said  Winnie,  softly,  "  into  that  last  world  .which 
has  all  the  best  of  all  the  worlds  in  it !" 

"  Then,"  said  Maurice,  "  I  think  we  shall  find  all 
around  us  and  all  within  us  grow  so  high,  and 
broad,  and  deep,  that  the  best  of  us  will  feel  as  if 
we  had  been  living  in  the  narrow  chamber  all  our 
lives,  and  had  only  now  first  entered  on  the  thresh- 
old of  the  wide  world  of  God." 

"  Then  that  last  step,"  said  Winnie,  "  will  be 
only  a  first  step  after  all" 


CHAPTER  IV. 


|  AURICE'S  story  was  finished,  little  Fan's 
visit  was  over,  and  yet  Winifred's  day 
had  scarcely  begun,  when  Maurice  an- 
nounced his  intention  of  taking  her  an 
expedition  into  London.  Mrs.  O'Brien  offered  the 
carriage,  and  Rosalie  was  fully  persuaded  of  the 
necessity  of  her  own  attendance ;  but  both  these 
honors  were  respectfully  declined,  and  Winifred  was 
intrusted  to  the  sole  guardianship  of  her  brother. 

She  deemed  it  a  point  of  honor  not  to  inquire  into 
Maurice's  intentions ;  until,  after  walking  together 
for  half  an  hour,  curiosity  overcame  discretion,  and 
she  said : 

"  If  it  is  not  against  your  plan,  Maurice,  I  should 
like  to  know  where  we  are  going  ?  I  do  not  like 
surprises,  Maurice,  if  you  please ;  because  it  is 
always  so  difficult  to  be  as  surprised  as  the  people 
expect,  when  you  have  been  expecting  you  do  not 
know  what ;  and  I  think  it  is  nicer  to  know  before- 
hand." 

"  Well,"  said  Maurice,  "  I  am  looking  for  a  cab ; 

99 


loo  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

and  we  are  going  first  to  take  ices  and  luncheon  at 
a  confectioner's,  and  then  to  the  British  Museum, 
and  afterwards  to  see  little  Grace  Leigh." 

It  must  be  confessed  that  Winnie's  spirits  did  not 
rise  at  the  prospect  of  the  British  Museum,  which 
she  had  been  in  the  habit  of  irreverently  considering 
rather  as  a  kind  of  national  lumber-room,  or  entrance 
hall  leading  nowhere.  The  great  lofty  halls,  lined 
with  statues  and  sarcophaguses,  and  stuffed  ani- 
mals, always  reminded  her  of  her  Aunt  Katharine 
Wyse's  great  hall  at  Combe  Monachorum;  and 
the  rooms  full  of  cases  of  stuffed  birds,  and  all  kinds 
of  disconnected  "  bits  of  things,"  always  recalled 
to  her  an  old  deserted  room,  also  at  Combe,  full 
of  dusty  and  forgotten* "curiosities,"  collected  by 
previous  generations  of  the  Wyse  family,  and  put 
there  by  succeeding  generations  to  be  out  of  the 
way. 

Accordingly,  diplomatically  waiving  the  unat- 
tractive part  of  the  programme,  she  said : 

"  Luncheon  with  you  at  a  confectioner's  will  be 
delightful  Maurice,  and  so  will  little  Grace  Leigh ; 
but  do  you  think  we  might  go  in  an  omnibus  instead 
of  a  cab  ?  I  have  so  often  wished  to  see  what  the 
inside  of  an  omnibus  is  like — it  must  be  almost  as 
nice  as  riding  on  an  elephant." 

This  point  conceded,  the  travelers  arrived  safely 
at  the  British  Museum. 

At  the  door  they  met  a  tall,  thin,  elderly  cler- 
gyman, with  a  slightly  stooping  gait;  a  meek, 
monotonous  voice,  as  if  he  had  been  more  used  to 
reading  than  speaking  ;  and  a  kind  of  bewildered, 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  101 

hesitating,  short-sighted  manner,  as  if  he  had  all 
his  life  been  looking  for  something,  he  did  not  ex- 
actly know  what  or  where. 

By  his  side,  leaning  on  his  arm,  in  a  way  that 
was  half  protective  and  half  dependent,  stood  a 
little  girl,  who  rose  on  tiptoe  and  whispered  some- 
thing to  him  as  Maurice  and  "Winnie  appeared. 

Winnie  felt  instinctively  that  this  could  be  no 
other  than  little  Grace  Leigh ;  but  intimate  as 
during  the  last  few  hours  she  had  grown  with  the 
thought  of  her  friend-elect,  the  sight  of  her  as  an 
actual  person  dressed  in  actual  every-day  clothes 
seemed  at  first  to  throw  Winnie  back  rather  than  to 
advance  her  in  the  acquaintanceship.  She  colored 
to  her  temples ;  she  could  not  have  explained  to 
herself* why,  but  it  felt  rather  as  if  she  had  penetrat- 
ed into  Grace's  room  among  her  secret  treasures, 
and  had  been  turning  them  over  with  the  freedom 
of  an  intimate  friend,  when  suddenly  Grace  had 
appeared,  and  she  remembered  that  they  had  never 
met. 

If  Grace  had  felt  any  shyness  at  first,  it  quite 
vanished  when  she  preceived  Winnie's  embarrass- 
ment. She  seemed  only  to  think  how  to  make 
Winnie  feel  at  ease  ;  and  came  up  to  her  and  took 
her  hand,  and  began  pointing  things  out  to  her, 
taking  charge  of  her  in  a  kind  of  self-possessed, 
motherly  way,  which  wa's  natural  to  her,  blended 
with  a  gentle  deference,  arising  from  the  conviction 
she  had  that  every  one  she  met  knew  more,  and 
was  wiser  than  herself.  Meanwhile  Mr.  Leigh  and 
Maurice  pursued  their  course;  and  a  shy-looking 
9*  - 


102  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

schoolboy,  with  dark  eyes,  deeply  veiled  by  long 
black  lashes  and  shaggy  hair  that  would  droop 
over  them,  whom  Winnie  knew  must  be  Harry,  kept 
hovering  about  the  party,  paying  spasmodic  atten- 
tion to  sarcophaguses  and  mummies,  from  behind 
which  he  occasionally  encountered  Winnie  with 
strange,  investigating  glances,  as  if  she  had  been  a 
curiosity  just  imported  from  Upper  Egypt. 

Like  all  double-minded  people,  between  his  in- 
terest in  Winnie  and  the  mummies,  Harry  was  sel- 
dom clear  where  he  was  going,  which  was  a  cause 
of  some  solicitude  to  Grace. 

She  evidently  felt  from  the  first  that  the  charge 
of  both  of  her  companions  devolved  on  her :  and 
although  she  never  irritated  her  brother  with  any 
prohibitory  "  don'ts,"  more  than  once  Winnie  ob- 
served that  she  saved  some  curiosity,  or  Harry's 
head,  from  damage,  by  calling  him  to  see  some  re- 
markable object  just  as  a  concussion  was  imminent. 

Harry's  blunders  had  nearly  as  much  effect  in 
calming  Winnie's  nerves  as  Grace's  composure  ;  and 
when  Mr.  Leigh  and  Maurice  had  finished  their 
discussion  over  the  Rosetta  Stone,  Maurice  was 
satisfied  to  see  Winnie  walking  hand  in  hand  with 
Grace,  and  looking  up  from  time  to  tune  in  her  face 
with  the  confidence  of  being  taken  care  of,  and  led 
where  it  was  best  to  go. 

Gradually  Harry  subsided  under  the  guardianship 
of  his  father  and  Maurice ;  and  Grace's  mind  be- 
coming relieved  about  her  responsibilities,  she  was 
free  to  enjoy  the  things  about  her. 

The  great  black  marble  Egyptian  kings,  with 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


103 


their  hands  on  their  knees,  and  their  placid  faces, 
seemed  quite  old  friends  of  hers. 

"  Should  not  you  like  to  see  them,"  she  said,  "  in 
their  own  places,  at  the  entrances  of  the  great  tem- 
ples, sitting  so  calmly  under  the  burning  sun,  and 
looking  out  over  the  burning  sands,  and  the 
ruins,  and  the  graves  ?  Don't  they  look  grave, 
and  calm,  and  satisfied,  as  if  they  were  saying  to  us, 
4  Why  are  you  puzzled  about  things  ?  It  is  all 
right.  We  have  been  watching  for  thousands  of 
years,  and  we  know.' " 

Grace  spoke  softly,  as  if  she  were  thinking  rather 
than  talking ;  and  as  Winnie  looked  up  at  the 
straight,  white  smooth  forehead,  and  followed  the 
sweet,  thoughtful,  happy  eyes  up  to  those  calm 
ancient  faces,  she  said  : 

"  I  do  not  think  they  would  say  so  to  you ;  for 
you  don't  look  puzzled  at  all.  You  look  as  if  you 
knew  as  much  as  they  do." 

Grace  smiled  a  peculiar  sudden  smile  of  her  own 
which  seemed  to  leave  a  music  in  your  heart,  like  a 
child's  sudden,  joyous  laughter ;  and  she  said : 

"  I  think  we  do  know  more  than  they  did  about 
some  things  ;  don't  you  ?" 

As  her  eyes  met  Winnie's,  Winnie  thought  of 
the  illuminated  text,  but  she  could  not  speak  of  it 
then ;  and  they  walked  on  in  silence  until  they  stood 
before  the  great  Assyrian  human-headed  bulls,  and 
Grace  said  : 

"  Only  think  that  those  great  grave  eyes  may 
have  looked  down  on  thfe  prophet  Jonah  !  Can  you 
not  almost  fancy  them  following  him,  reproaching 


104  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

him,  and  saying,  c  And  should  not  I  spare  Nineveh, 
that  great  city,  wherein  are  six-score  thousand 
persons  that  cannot  discern  between  their  right 
hand  and  their  left  hand  ?'  Father  says  that  means 
the  babies.  Think  of  babies  and  little  children 
playing  about  those  old  giants  !" 

Winnie,  who  had  never  formed  any  distinct  idea 
about  either  the  prophet  Jonah  or  Nineveh,  still 
less  about  Assyrian  babies,  was  more  impressed 
with  Grace's  learning  than  with  the  human-headed 
bulls.  She  began,  however,,  to  have  a  dim  idea  that 
these  great  halls-  might  after  all  be  a  vestibule 
leading  somewhere ;  and  all  at  once  she  remembered 
the  subterranean  palace  of  the  Past,  but  she  only 
said  to  Grace : 

"  Do  you  know  Egyptian  and  Assyrian,  then,  as 
well  as  Greek?" 

She  said  this  with  a  blush,  and  with  some  hesita- 
tion, because  she  was  not  at  all  clear  what  language 
people  used  to  speak  in  Nineveh  or  in  Ancient 
Egypt. 

It  was  Grace's  turn  to  blush  ;  and  she  said  : 

"  I  do  not  know  Greek — only  a  little,  just  to  help 
Harry  about  his  lessons." 

"  Do  you  come  here  often  ?"  asked  Winnie. 

"  Oh,  no — very  seldom.  Father  can  so  seldom 
take  a  holiday,  and  he  does  not  like  me  to  come 
alone.  There  are  so  many  baptisms  a,nd  funerals ; 
and  then  there  is  the  Union.  But  it  is  such  a 
delight  when  we  can.  It  is  like  spending  a  day 
with  the  kings  and  queens  and  great  anen  and 
women  of  old  times  in  their  own  homes." 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  105 

But  Grace's  favorite  rooms  were  the  Greek 
rooms.  There  she  seemed  quite  at  home. 

"Everything  is  so  beautiful  here,"  she  said. 
"  The  other  things  seem  old  and  strange  ;  but  these 
never  look  old  or  strange,  any  more  than  the  flow- 
ers and  leaves  which  must  have  grown  around 
them.  Father  lets  me  stay  and  sketch  here  some- 
times." 

And  she  pointed  out  to  Winnie  some  of  the 
beautiful,  delicate  carvings  of  capital  and  column 
with  such  a  genuine  delight  that  Winnie  said  : 

"  You  seem  as  much  interested  in  them  as  if  they 
had  been  made  by  some  one  you  knew  and  loved 
dearly." 

Then  they  went  up  stairs  into  the  department  of 
the  shells ;  and  here,  to  Winnie's  surprise,  as  she 
was  hurrying  past  what  seemed  to  her  mere  collec- 
tions of  things  with  labels,  as  uninteresting  as  a 
bazaar  when  you  had  no  money  to  buy  anything, 
Grace  stopped  and  said, 

"  Oh,  don't  hurry  here  !  This  is  almost  the  best  of 
alL  It  always  feels  like  hearing  the  waves  heaving 
and  breaking,  and  tasting  the  salt  sea  air.  Look  at  the 
shapes  and  the  carving ;  and  she  pointed  to  the 
delicate  branching  spines  of  a  Murex  ;  the  twist  of 
the  translucent  Nautilus  ;  and  the  exquisite  curves 
of  the  alabaster-white  Heart  Clam,  meeting  each 
other  like  a  heart.  "  See,"  she  said,  "  they  are 
more  beautiful  than  the  capitals  of  the  Greek 
columns !  And  look  at  the  color,"  she  added, 
pointing  to  the  delicate  rose-colored  lip  of  a  great 
whelk-shell.  It  is  as  delicate  as  a  moss-rose.  And 


lo6  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

yet  they  have  been  tossed  about  on  the  great  waves, 
or  have  been  lying,  no  one  knows  how  long,  far 
down  in  the  dark  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  And 
then,"  she  concluded  very  softly,  "  they  were  carved 
by  One  we  know." 

Winnie  clung  close  to  Grace's  hand.  She  felt  quite 
sure  she  had  found  a  friend;  and  she  felt  also  a 
happy  sense  of  her  own  littleness  and  ignorance, 
and  of  the  breadth  and  height  and  depth  of  the 
world  she  lived  in.  And  as  they  left  the  Museum, 
she  caught  Maurice's  hand,  and  said : 

"  Oh,  Maurice,  I  know  quite  well  now  why  you 
chose  to  come  here.  And  Grace  has  been  in  Three 
of  the  Five  Worlds,  I  am  sure,  and  knows  them  so 
well.  And  she  is  not  at  all  proud.  She  says  she 
knows  scarcely  anything ;  but  /  think  she  knows 
Egyptian  and  Nineveh  as  well  as  Greek.  And  I 
think  she  will  help  to  open  all  the  doors  to  me. 
And  I  like  her  so  much,  and  the  Museum.  And  I 
see  the  British  Museum  is  not  at  all  a  dull  place 
like  the  hall  or  lumber-room  at  Aunt  Katharine's. 
And  I'm  so  much  obliged  to  you,  Maurice,"  she 
concluded,  apologizing  to  him  for  her  disparaging 
thoughts,  "  for  bringing  me  to  the  Museum.  It 
was  the  very  nicest  thing  you  could  have  done." 

"  And  ain't  Miss  Grace's  room  beautiful  ?" 
Little  Fan's  words  rang  through  Winnie's  head 
as  the  narrow  door  by  the  side  of  the  greengro- 
cer's shop  was  opened  to  them,  and  they  went  up 
the  old  dark  staircase,  with  low  carved  oak  balus- 
trades, into  the  curate's  one  sitting-room,  a  room 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  1O7 

with  three  high  narrow  old-fashioned  windows  in 
rather  deep  recesses,  festooned  with  massive  brown 
draperies  which  the  landlady  had  thought  it  a  master 
stroke  of  policy  to  acquire  at  a  sale  of  one  of  the 
many  houses  in  that  decaying  neighborhood. 
These  solemn  curtains,  weighty  with  their  former 
grandeur,  and  the  houses  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  street,  certainly  threw  rather  a  sombre  shade 
over  the  room,  which  was  contrasted,  but  scarcely 
relieved,  by  a  very  gorgeous  carpet,  with  bunches 
of  enormous  flowers  in  yellow  baskets  purchased, 
on  a  subsequent  occasion — the  delight  of  the  land- 
lady's heart,  but  not  of  Grace's. 

(How  vividly  Grace  remembered  the  evening 
when  after  a  day's  holiday,  the  landlady  welcomed 
her  and  her  father  at  the  door  with  a  mysterious  exul- 
tation beaming  in  her  full  goodnatured  face,  crimson 
with  the  day's  exertion,  and  triumphantly  ushered 
them  into  the  room  where  that  brilliant  carpet  and 
those  impressive  curtains  were  displayed  of  precisely 
the  tones  of  color  which  went  wrong  with  each 
other ! 

"  There,  Mr.  Leigh !"  the  landlady  said,  inter- 
preting in  her  favor  Mr.  Leigh's  dismayed  silence. 
"  I  knew  you  and  Miss  Grace  would  be  taken  aback 
like,  but  I  did  it  on  purpose.  We've  been  toiling 
and  moiling  like  black  slaves,  but  I  had  set  my 
heart  you  and  Miss  Grace  should  see  I  know'd 
what  was  fit  for  a,  gentleman.  I  didn't  live  in  the 
first  families  in  Whitechapel  when  I  was  a  girl  for 
nothing.  Them  curtains  is  real  damask,  you  can't 
buy  such  nowadays  at  no  price ;  and  the  carpet 


108  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

was  new  last  year,  and  the  color'll  stand  like 
china." 

"  The  color  will  stand,  will  it,  Mrs.  Treherne  ?" 
said  Mr.  Leigh,  sorely  puzzled  between  gratitude 
and  honesty.  "  You  think  it'll  never  be  a  little  less 
striking  ?" 

"  Bless  you,  no,  Mr.  Leigh — no  fear,  it's  none  of 
them  common  stamped  things.  The  colors  are  as 
sure  as  the  wear  !" 

"  And  it's  sure  to  wear  ?"  said  Mr.  Leigh,  taking 
refuge  in  as  inexpressive  a  tone  as  he  could  com- 
mand. 

"  As  long  as  you  or  me,  Mr.  Leigh,"  was  the 
exulting  reply ;  "  and  I  hope  that'll  be  saying  a 
good  deal." 

"Thank  you,  Mrs.  Treherne,  thank  you,"  he 
replied.  "  I  am  sure  no  one  could  do  more  to  make 
us  comfortable."  For  Mr.  Leigh  well  knew  that  Mrs. 
Treherne  combined  a  warm  heart  with  what  she 
herself  called  "  a  terrible  hasty  temper,"  of  which 
she  was  wont  to  complain,  as  of  an  unmanageable 
animal  she  had  to  keep.  Accordingly,  he  ventured 
on  no  expression  of  opinion,  and  Mrs.  Treherne  left 
the  room  in  a  state  of  radiant  complacency. 

"  Never  likely  to  fade,  Grace,  my  dear !"  said  Mr. 
Leigh,  when  they  were  left  alone  with  that  perpetu- 
al discord  of  color.  "  It  will  be  like  living  under 
that  poor  man  who  was  always  tuning  his  violin, 
and  always  tuning  it  wrong.  Grace,  my  dear,  what 
are  we  to  do  ?  I'm  afraid  it'll  put  me  out  so  in  my 
sermons.". 

"  There's  a  great  deal  of  dust  here,  father,"  said 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  ^9 

Grace  consolingly  ;  "  and  Harry  moves  about  a  good 
deal,  and  wears  things  out,  and  I  think  we  shall 
not  always  notice  it  so  much.  And,"  she  concluded, 
struck  with  a  bright  idea,  "  perhaps  Mrs.  Treherne 
wouldn't  be  offended  if  one  day  we  bought  a  piece 
of  quiet  drugget.  We  might  say  it  would  save  the 
carpet." 

Mr.  Leigh  was  comforted,  but  Harry  had  to  be 
sent  to  .school,  and  the  drugget  had  not  yet  been 
bought.) 

Perhaps  it  was  on  account  of  this  discord  that  it 
was  not  until  the  curtains  were  drawn  and  the  can- 
dles lit  that  Winnie  began  to  echo  Fan's  opinion  as 
to  the  room. 

Grace  had  contrived,  by  a  little  diplomacy,  to 
banish  from  it  sundry  ornaments  which  Mrs.  Tre- . 
herne  had  placed  there :  three  vases  of  gigantic 
wax  flowers  under  glass  shades,  which  had  adorned 
the  chimney-piece ;  and  two  striking  portraits  in 
oils,  indiscriminately  purchased  at  a  sale ;  so  that 
at  length  nothing  remained  which,  in  Mrs.  Tre- 
herne's  opinion,  made  the  room  look  "  fit  for  quality" 
but  two  mirrors,  one  over  the  fire,  a  low  gilt  one  with 
gilt  pillars  and  cornices  ;  and  opposite  it  a  concave 
circular  one  in  a  black  frame,  which  with  its  repeat- 
ed reflections,  diminishing  to  nothing,  had  occasion- 
ed Grace  and  Harry  their  first  perplexities  both  in 
optics  and  metaphysics,  they  having  never  been 
able  to  decide  whether  those  reflections  went  on 
forever,  or  ceased  when  they  ceased  to  be  visible. 
Besides  these,  the  only  ornaments  of  the  room 
were — on  the  walls  a  head  of  a  lady,  with  a  rosy 
10 


1 10  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

little  girl  of  five,  and  a  round-faced  brown-eyed 
baby,  sketched  in  water  colors ;  a  stray  copy  of 
Raphael's  Elymas  the  Sorcerer ;  one  or  two  illumi- 
nated texts ;  and  on  the  chimney-piece,  a  huge  old 
silver  watch,  suspended  from  a  little  bronze  stand ; 
two  plaster  casts  of  Canova's  Night  and  Morning  ; 
and  two  silhouettes  of  ancestors,  old  gentlemen 
with  black  faces  and  silvery  bag  wigs. 

On  one  side  of  the  fireplace  stood  a  small  table 
of  inlaid  wood,  which  had  been  one  of  Mrs.  Leigh's 
few  wedding  presents  ;  and  upon  it,  a  work-basket, 
neatly  covered  with  an  embroidered  handkerchief. 
In  the  recess  on  the  other  side,  above  Mr.  Leigh's 
writing  table,  were  fixed  a  few  bookshelves,  where 
Harry's  blue  and  crimson-backed  prizes  shone  con- 
spicuous among  Mr.  Leigh's  classics  and  the  few 
second-hand  volumes  of  Patristic  and  Reformation 
divinity  which  made  his  theological  library.  On  the 
top  shelf  was  a  line  of  faded  "  Gems"  and  "  Wreaths" 
and  "Affection's  Offerings,"  dating  from  Mrs. 
Leigh's  school  days.  On  the  old  square  piano, 
which  also  did  duty  as  sideboard,  stood  a  huge 
brass-bound  desk,  which  had  belonged  to  Grace's 
grandfather,  and  was  Harry's  one  piece  of  entailed 
property. 

To  Mr.  Leigh  and  Grace  almost  everything  in  the 
room  was  an  illuminated  text  of  some  portion  of 
their  life-history  ;  and  even  to  Winnie's  eye  a  kind 
of  significance  seemed  to  shine  out  of  the  worn  and 
faded  things,  as  if  they  were  saying,  "  If  you  knew 
our  language,  you  would  see  we  are  not  mere 
Arabesques,  but  sacred  Arabic  inscriptions." 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  1 1 1 

The  tea  was  spread  on  the  table  when  they  arriv- 
ed. Winnie  had  little  idea  what  thought  and 
pleasure  the  preparation  of  this  little  entertainment 
had  given  Grace,  or  what  anxious  solicitude  it  had 
cost  her  father,  nor  what  a  proud  day  it  was  to 
Mrs.  Treherne  to  welcome  Mr.  Bertram,  the  rector 
of  St.  Alphege  the  Martyr's  under  her  roof,  and  to 
see  "  Miss  Grace  among  such  as  was  fit  to  sit  down 
with  her  mother's  daughter,  poor  lamb." 

All  Grace's  entreaties  had  been  powerless  to  pro- 
cure a  white  cloth  to  be  spread  on  the  table. 

"  Scores  of  hours  I've  spent  on  that  table,  Miss 
Grace,"  she  said,  "  me  and  mother  before  me ;  and 
after  all  to  hide  it  away  as  if  it  were  a  bit  of  kit- 
chen deal,  real  Honduras  mahogany  that  my  father 
brought  from  the  Americas,  when  it  shines  like  a 
looking-glass !  Never  mind,  Miss  Grace,  if  it  is 
scratched  and  spotted  a  little.  I  don't  grudge 
elbow  grease.  But  to  hide  it  would  be  a  sin." 

She  had  also  insisted  on  introducing  her  own 
best  china,  of  a  pattern  extensive  and  brilliant 
enough  to  match  the  carpet.  But  beyond  this,  the 
little  feast  was  all  Grace's  arrangement.  The  plate 
of  flowers  in  the  centre,  filled  with  a  mosaic  of 
flowers  and  moss,  from  which  sprang  a  vase  where 
white  stocks  and  a  few  scarlet  geraniums  rose 
among  delicate  drooping  sprays  of  asparagus ;  the 
little  French  rolls  and  fresh  eggs  ;  the  cake  decorat- 
ed with  paper  cut  in  the  style  of  the  Portuguese 
nuns  ;  and  the  plate  of  fresh  cresses  and  radishes. 

Histories  again  in  everything.  Mr.  Treherne  had 
made  an  especial  expedition  to  the  market  an  hour 


112  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

earlier  than  usual  that  morning,  to  surprise  Miss 
Grace  with  the  freshest  cresses.  Mrs.  Anderson, 
the  Scotch  baker's  wife  opposite,  had  got  the  rolls 
baked  in  an  especially  dainty  twist  for  the  occasion; 
and  Miss  Lavinia  Lovel,  who  kept  a  "  Ladies' 
School"  at  the  corner,  had  spent  her  spare  moments 
for  the  last  day  or  two  in  cutting  the  paper  into 
those  wonderful  flowers  and  perforations.  Such  a 
rare  thing  was  it  for  Mr.  Leigh  and  Miss  Grace  to 
have  visitors,  and  so  many  were  there  gathered 
around  them  to  whom  their  little  joys  and  sorrows 
were  matters  of  hearty  interest. 

So  that  far  below  the  level  of  Mr.  O'Brien's 
ordinary  table  as  little  Grace's  highest  efforts  at 
entertainment  fell,  to  Winnie  it  was  quite  a  festive 
board ;  she  felt  that  the  eggs  and  the  radishes  were 
holiday  eggs  and  radishes,  to  be  enjoyed  with  quite 
a  different  appreciation  from  the  prosaic  .eggs  and 
radishes  which  were  laid  in  the  poultry-yard,  or 
grew  in  the  kitchen  garden  at  home. 

It  was  a  very  joyous  little  feast.  Winnie  had 
never  seen  Maurice  in  such  high  spirits.  Harry 
was  in  a  state  of  most  pleasurable  excitement  be- 
tween his  efforts  not  to  laugh  too  uproariously  at 
Maurice's  sallies  on  him  and  Winnie,  and  his  semi- 
civilized  attempts  at  doing  the  host  to  Winnie  by 
convulsively  poking  at  her  various  articles  of  food. 
Little  Grace  sat  serene  and  motherly  behind  the 
urn,  always  instinctively  knowing  what  every  one 
wanted.  The  only  anxious  member  of  the  party 
was  Mr.  Leigh,  who,  while  he  practically  leant  on 
little  Grace  as  he  had  on  her  mother,  theoretically, 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  1 13 

never  believed  she  was  more  than  six,  and  living 
as  he  did  in  constant  nervous  apprehension  as  to 
what  Harry  would  do  next,  had  naturally  looked 
on  the  whole  entertainment  as  a  wild  and  daring 
enterprise.  However,  even  Mr.  Leigh  became  by 
degrees  reassured  as  to  the  character  of  Grace's  tea, 
and  of  her  arrangements  in  general,  and  the  con- 
tentment of  his  guests. 

His  apprehensions  were  nevertheless  a  little 
revived  when  Maurice  ventured  to  address  some 
inquiries  to  Grace  about  her  Greek. 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  Bertram,"  he  said,  apologizing  to 
Winnie,  "  you  must  not  give  your  sister  a  wrong  im- 
pression. I  assure  you  my  Grace  is  nothing  of  a 
bluestocking.  Her  mother  had  an  aunt  who  knew 
Latin  and  Greek,  and  embraced  the  fatal  doctrines 
of  the  French  Revolution,  and  that  made  her  family 
always  dread  learned  ladies;  although  I  did  not 
quite  see  the  connection.  Grace  can  read  and  write 
and  sew ;  and  I  think  she  has  some  talents^for  draw- 
ing and  music.  But  beyond  this  she  aspires  to 
nothing.  We  are  plain  people,  Miss  Bertram,  very 
plain,  old-fashioned  English  people." 

"  Grace  knows  more  Greek  than  I  do,  father," 
interposed  Harry,  bending  up  to  his  sister's  de- 
fence. 

"  No  difficult  task,  I  fear,  my  boy,"  said  Mr. 
Leigh,  with  a  quiet,  little  smile. 

"  She  reads  a  hundred  lines  of  the  Iliad  in  no 

time,"  retorted  Harry.     Thus  actually  brought  face 

to  face  with  facts,  Mr.  Leigh  looked  anxiously  at 

Grace,  who  had  no  defence  but — "  Indeed,  father, 

10* 


114  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

I  did  not  mean  to — I  could  not  help  it,  at  least — at 
first ;  and  then,"  she  concluded,  gathering  courage, 
"  I  got  to  like  it  so  much,  it  was  impossible  to 
help  going  on." 

Maurice  laughed  rather  a  malicious  little  laugh  at 
Mr.  Leigh's  discomfiture ;  but  then  he  said  in  a  consol- 
ing tone :  "  You  remember  Lady  Jane  Grey,  Mr. 
Leigh,  a  thorough  Englishwoman,  and  the  most  du- 
tiful of  daughters,  and  she  was  even  guilty  of 
Plato." 

"  True,"  said  Mr.  Leigh,  with  some  hesitation ; 
"  and  then  Grace  may  forget !" 

After  this  discussion,  Grace  and  Winnie  soon  left 
the  room  for  the  delights  of  a  tete-a-Ute. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Bertram,"  said  Mr.  Leigh,  as  he  re- 
turned from  closing  the  door  on  the  little  girls, 
"  that  was  a  race  of  giants  and  giants'  works. 
Lady  Jane  Grey  was  a  good  woman,  undoubtedly, 
although  she  was  a  scholar ;  but  consider  what  men 
and  women  she  had  to  measure  herself  with ;  and 
consider  what  cares  she  had  to  counterbalance  her 
learning,  and  keep  her  from  being  one-sided  and 
unfeminine." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  the  cares  at  least  are  not 
banished  from  our  times,"  said  Mr.  Bertram. 

"  Ah,  well,"  sighed  Mr.  Leigh,  "  Grace  has  hers, 
poor  child.  And  a  sweeter,  gentler,  humbler  child 
never  lived.  I  should  never  have  suspected  she 
knew  anything  of  Greek." 

Meantime,  Winnie  had  entered  on  the  inmost 
shrine  of  her  aspirations  for  that  day  of  delights. 
She  was  alone  with  Grace  in  Grace's  own  room. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  U£ 

But  in  this  new  stage  of  friendship  a  new  veil 
of  shyness  seemed  to  drop  over  her  heart :  the  ten 
thousand  questions  she  had  planned  to  ask  Grace 
died  on  her  lips,  and  she  would  have  sunk  into  si- 
lence, if  Grace's  tender,  little  loving  ways  had  not 
broken  the  spell  again,  and  set  her  tongue  free,  not, 
indeed  as  she  had  meant,  to  question  Grace,  but  to 
pour  out  the  story  of  her  own  life ;  so  that  in  a  short 
time,  as  they  sat  curled  up  hand  in  hand  in  the  lit- 
tle bed  together,  Grace  knew  all  about  her  parents 
in  India,  and  her  aunt  and  uncle,  and  the  pretty 
home  and  the  rose-garden,  and  her  books,  and  va- 
rious possessions,  her  lessons  and  pleasures,  the 
places  she  had  seen,  the  excursions  she  had  made, 
and  little  Fan  and  Dan,  and  Rosalie  and  all ; — all 
but  the  inmost  things  which  still  lay  hid  behind 
that  inmost  veil  which  hangs  before  the  sanctuaries 
of  all  temples  in  which  there  is  any  sacred  Presence 
at  all  to  reveal. 

At  length  she  paused,  and  looking  up  suddenly 
at  Grace,  said : 

"  Now  tell  me  all  about  what  you  do — your  les- 
sons, and  your  holidays,  and  everything." 

Grace  was  so  little  accustomed  to  look  on  herself 
or  her  life  from  outside,  or  indeed  as  anything  apart 
from  those  she  loved,  that  at  first  she  was  as  much 
at  a  loss  for  a  reply  as  if  she  had  been  asked  for  a 
concise  narrative  of  the  most  recent  explorations  of 
Central  Africa. 

At  length  she  said  : 

"  I  went  to  school  to  the  Miss  Lovels,  until  they 
said  I  had  learned  their  books  through.  There  were 


H6  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

not  very  many.  There  were  Pinnock's  Goldsmith, 
Greece,  and  England,  with  the  Catechisms,  and 
Hangnail's  Questions,  and  the  French  Grammar, 
and  the  Vocabulary,  and  the  Becueil  Choisi.  But 
I  am  afraid  the  French  is  a  little  altered  since  the 
Miss  Lovels  learnt,  because  I  once  tried  to  show  an 
old  French  sailor  his  way,  and  he  thanked  me,  but 
said  he  did  not  understand  English.  But  they 
taught  me  to  illuminate,  too,  and  to  make  flowers, 
and  cut  paper  like  the  Portuguese  nuns,  and  to  em- 
broider and  to  sew,  and  the  First  Arithmetic  Book. 
And  Mrs.  Anderson,  the  baker's  wife  opposite, 
taught  me  to  knit  stockings.  Then  there  are  Har- 
ry's books,  the  Analecta — there  is  a  beautiful  poem 
in  that  about  all  the  creatures  drinking  from  one 
another ;  and  helping  one  another ;  the  sun  drink- 
ing from  the  sea,  and  the  sea  from  the  earth,  and  the 
earth  again  from  the  sun.  And  then  there  are 
Cesar's  Commentaries  and  Cornelius  Nepos,  and  fa- 
ther's Iliad  and  Odyssey,  which  are  the  best  of  all." 

"  Have  you  no  books  of  your  own,  then  ?"  asked 
Winnie  with  some  hesitating  delicacy. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Grace ;  "  all  mamma's  small 
books  are  mine.  There  are  the  Gems  and  the  For- 
get-me-nots. But  I  don't  care  quite  so  much  about 
them.  But  there  are  the  poems  by  John  Milton ; 
and  some  of  those  are  as  beautiful  as  the  Greek. 
And  then  there  are  the  three  odd  volumes  of  Shak- 
speare.  Mrs.  Treherne  said  they  were  play  books, 
and  I  ought  not  to  read  them ;  but  when  I  asked 
father  he  smiled,  and  said,  John  Wesley  advised 
people  to  read  Shakspeare ;  which  made  all  the  dif- 


THE  WORLD  SHJE  LIVED  IN.  117 

ference,  Mrs.  Treherne  said,  for  she  is  a  Methodist. 
Miss  Lavinia  Lovel  said  one  day,  when  I  told  her, 
that  it  was  not  quite  fit  for  little  girls ;  but  Miss 
Betsy  said  that  was  nonsense,  and  I  do  enjoy  it  so 
much.  It  is  all  English  history,  but  so  different 
from  Pinnock's  Goldsmith.  You  get  to  know  the 
kings  and  queens,  and  the  great  men  and  women, 
as  well  as  Hector,  and  Andromache,  and  Achilles ; 
and  they  are  not  one  of  them  like  the  others — just 
like  real  people,  only  so  great  and  beautiful." 

"  Those  are  three  of  the  great  poets  in  Maurice's 
subterranean  palace,"  said  Winnie  ;  which  led  to  a 
digression  concerning  Maurice,  with  a  sketch  of  the 
two  allegories. 

After  which  Winnie  resumed  : 

"  I  suppose'  you  are  too  old  for  playthings ;  I  am, 
very  nearly." 

After  some  ransacking  of  her  memory,  Grace 
said : 

"  I  had  a  doll  once.  I  remember  it  because  of 
its  end.  I  must  have  been  very  little,  for  I  remem- 
ber crying  one  day  at  finding  Harry  pouring  out 
its  body  in  a  shower  of  bran  from  a  wound  in  its 
arm.  And  we  have  part  of  a  box  of  dominoes, 
with  which  I  used  to  keep  Harry  quiet  when  fa- 
ther was  writing  his  sermons.  I  never  remember 
any  other  toys.  Everything  was  a  plaything  to  us 
when  we  wanted  to  play,  and  father  was  out. 
Under  the  piano  was  a  lion's  den,  or  a  robber's  cas- 
tle, or  the  counter  of  a  shop — the  chairs  were 
horses  and  carriages ;  the  music-stool  was  a  pulpit ; 
a  pocket-handkerchief  tied  up  was  a  baby ;  and  a 


ng          .        WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

footstool  on  its  back  made  a  beautiful  cradle.  I 
often  wonder,"  concluded  Grace,  "  when  I  look  at 
a  toy-shop  why  people  take  such  trouble  to  make 
toys.  Harry  and  I  could  always  make  the  whole 
room  into  a  toy-shop  whenever  we  fancied.  And 
I  suppose  other  children  are  just  the  same." 

Winnie's  thoughts  recurred  to  the  elaborate  furni- 
ture of  her  own  nursery — the  gigantic  baby-house, 
so  passionately  desired,  so  seldom  used ;  the  exqui- 
sitely dressed  dolls ;  the  musical  carts ;  the  railway 
trains  that  went  round  the  table  with  the  touch  of 
a  spring ;  she  remembered  how  often  she  and  her 
playfellows,  after  disputing  the  use  of  these  wonder- 
ful machines,  had  turned  from  one  and  another  in 
weariness ;  and  she  said,  as  if  to  herself: 

"  And  then  there  was  little  Fan.'  It  is  nice  to 
have  things  given  you,  but  it  does  seem  made  up  to 
people  when  they  haven't  got  them.  But  then  I 
couldn't  have  done  without  my  bricks.  I  have 
such  a  beautiful  box  of  pillars  and  arches.  The 
worst  of  them  is,  that  you  have  so  often  to  build 
them  up  in  the  same  way,  one  gets  tired,  and  I  think 
sometimes  they  would  be  better  if  they  were  all 
plain." 

"  We  have  a  box  of  plain  bricks,"  said  Grace,  "  I 
forgot  that.  A  ship's  carpenter  made  them  for  us, 
whose  wife  father  had  visited  when  she  was  ill,  and 
been  a  comfort  to.  Square  bricks  which  you  can 
build  anything  with — temples,  and  towers,  and 
palaces.  And  Harry  has  a  box  of  tools.  Mr.  Ber- 
tram gave  them  to  him.  Harry  was  always  cutting 
or  pulling  things  to  pieces,  till  Mr.  Bertram  gave 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


119 


him  those  tools,  and  the  ship's  carpenter  some  large 
chips  of  wood.  Father  said  it  was  very  dangerous. 
But  Harry  quite  took  to  it,  and  seemed  to  enjoy 
making  things  as  much  as  pulling  them  to  pieces ; 
which  was  a  great  relief  to  us  all.  And  I  remem- 
ber Mr.  Bertram  said  he  thought  a  great  deal  of 
the  mischief  done  in  the  world  might  be  put  an  end 
to  in  the  same  way.  He  said  the  love  of  pulling  to 
pieces  was  often  only  the  love  of  putting  together 
turned  inside  out.  You  have  only  to  turn  it 
round,  and  it  is  all  right.  And  it  did  seem  so  with 
Harry. 

"  Now  tell  me  about  your  holidays." 

"  There  is  one  every  week,"  said  Grace.  "  Every 
Monday  afternoon  father  takes  me  for  a  walk.  He 
is  always  rather  low  on  Saturdays,  because  of  his 
sermon  that  is  to  come ;  but  on  Monday  afternoon 
father  often  says,  '  Well,  Grace,  I  think  I  did  my 
best  yesterday.  I  am  afraid  it  was  very  poor,  my 
child ;  but  we  must  leave  the  past  things  with  God.' 
And  then  we  have  our  walk." 

"  Where  do  you  walk  ?"  said  Winnie,  her  imagin- 
ation wandering  drearily  through  the  long  ranges 
of  crowded,  dingy,  narrow  streets,  through  which 
they  had  passed. 

"  Oh,"  said  Grace,  "  there  are  many  ways.  Some 
times  we  cross  the  river  in  a  ferry  boat,  and  then 
very  soon  you  come  to  market-gardens  here  and 
there.  And  sometimes  we  go  up  by  the  docks,  and 
I  like  to  see  the  ships ;  and,  besides,  there  is  an  old 
woman  here  who  remembers  when  the  docks  were 
all  green  fields  with  cattle  grazing  on  them ;  and 


120  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

that  is  very  pleasant  to  think  of.  And  then  there 
are  the  penny  steamers,  and  the  great  river,  and  the 
bridges  with  the  arches  reflected  on  it,  and  the 
houses  and  ships  making  such  pretty  pictures  un- 
derneath. And  once  we  went  to  Margate,  which 
made  me  care  for  it  much  more,  because  I  heard 
the  real  sea-waves  the  old  heroes  heard,  and  be- 
oause  I  know  now  where  the  river  is  going.  And 
twice  we  have  been  to  Greenwich.  And  the  great 
hospital  there  is  beautiful.  It  is  like  the  pictures 
of  Venice  when  the  sun  is  shining.  It  was  a  palace 
once,  and  now  it  is  better  than  a  palace,  I  think, 
since  so  many  poor  old  men  are  taken  care  of  in  it. 
And  there  are  such  trees  !  They  make  you  think  ol 
the  great  beech  tree  by  the  gate  of  Troy,  where  the 
old  princes  sat  talking  softly,  watching  the  heroes 
fight  on  the  plain.  And  there  are  deer,  with  lovely, 
soft,  large,  kind  eyes.  And  once  we  have  been  to 
the  Zoological  Gardens ;  and  that  is  almost  as  good, 
you  know,  as  going  to  India,  and  Africa,  and  all 
the  countries  where  they  used  to  live.  And  four 
times  to  the  British  Museum ;  and  that  is  like  spend- 
ing a  day  with  the  Pharaohs  and  the  Assyrian  kings, 
or  with  Homer  himself. n 

"  Things  seem  to  make  you  very  happy,"  said 
Winnie  candidly.  "  It  is  very  strange.  I  always 
thought  the  Zoological  Gardens  very  uninteresting, 
except  the  monkeys,  and  the  creatures  who  would 
eat  biscuits.  And  I  always  thought  the  British 
Museum  as  dull  as  a  lesson  in  French  history,  until 
to-day." 

Grace  looked  rather  perplexed. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.       12i 

"  But  then  the  great  pleasure,  you  know,"  she 
said  in  explanation,  "  was  having  father,  and  hav- 
ing to  cheer  him  up  and  make  him  happy.  Because 
father,"  she  added,  in  a  low  voice,  "  is  low  some- 
times. He  has  had  so  many  things  to  tro.uble  him." 

"  Perhaps  that  is  the  difference,"  said  Winnie  : 
"  every  one  is  always  trying,  on  my  holidays,  to 
make  me  happy,  and  it  does  seem  easier  the  other 
way.  It  was  the  same  with  little  Fan.  And  then," 
she  continued,  meditatively  repeating  over  in  her 
mind  the  endless  variety  of  treats,  and  fetes,  and 
amusements  provided  for  her,  "  perhaps  you  do  like 
your  pleasures  better  because  they  don't  come  so 
often." 

"  But,"  said  Grace,  to  whom  this  view  of  "'  plea- 
sures" as  something  got  up  expressly  for  the  sake 
of  being  pleasures  was  quite  new  and  incomprehen- 
sible, "  nearly  everything  is  pleasant,  I  think.  Ex- 
cept," she  added,  with  the  almost  nervous  dread  of 
exaggeration  she  inherited  from  her  Father,  "  ex- 
cept when  father  has  headaches  with  being  anxious 
about  his  sermons;  and  when  Harry  gets  imposi- 
tions ;  and  when  we  have  to  pay  our  New  Year's 
visit  to  Cousin  Felix  Hunter,  although  they  mean 
to  make  that  pleasant,  to  us  no  doubt — only  Cousin 
Felix  seems  to  think  we  ought  to  have  got  on 
better,  and  that  makes  Father  low." 

"  How  do  you  mean  that  everything  is  pleasant  ?" 
said  Winnie. 

"  It  is  pleasatit  to  wake  in  the  morning  and  think 
how  much  one  has  to  do  for  people ;  and  to  think 
how  sure  God  is  to  be  near  and  help  us  to  do  it ; 
11 


122  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

and  then,"  she  added  softly,  "  to  ask  him.  And 
it  is  pleasant  to  mend  father's  things,  and  make 
them  nice.,  and  think  how  he  will  wonder  at  their 
lasting  so  long,  and  how  little  he  knows  how  it  is. 
And  it  is  pleasant  just  to  learn  a  little  bit  more 
every  day,  and  feel  getting  on.  And  it  is  pleasant 
to  help  the  Miss  Lovels  with  their  scholars  when  I 
can.,  and  save  Miss  Lavinia's  voice,  and  Miss  Bet- 
sy's eyes.  And  it  is  pleasant  to  help  Harry.  And 
it  is  pleasant  to  contrive  how  to  make  the  cold  meat 
that  lasts  too  long  seem  like  new  to  father,  by  lit- 
tle changes.  And  it  is  pleasant  to  make  things 
pleasanter  in  all  kinds  of  ways  for  father  and 
Harry,  by  giving  up  little  things  which  they  never 
know  I  give  up  (because  if  they  knew  they  might 
think  I  cared,  and  not  let  me,  and  I  don't  care  in 
the  least),  and  which  they  enjoy  having ;  that  is  one 
of  the  greatest  pleasures.  And  then  it  is  pleasant 
that  Mr.  Treherne  is  a  greengrocer  and  not  a  baker, 
because  there  are  never  any  hot  uncomfortable 
smells ;  and  the  cabbages,  and  the  red  bunches  of 
carrots,  and  the  baskets  of  turnips,  are  so  nice  to 
look  at ;  and  the  parsley  is  just  as  beautiful  to  sketch 
as  the  acanthus  on  the  Corinthian  columns ;  and  Mr. 
Treherne  is  so  kind  in  giving  me  moss  and  aspara- 
gus tops ;  and  it  is  so  pleasant  to  hear  Mr.  Tre- 
herne talk  about  the  sea,  and  the  fishermen,  and  the 
mines  in  Devonshire  and  Cornwall.  And  it  is 
pleasant  that  Mrs.  Anderson,  when  she  is  teaching 
me  knitting,  has  such  wild  strange  stories  about  her 
father's  old  home  in  the  Highlands.  People  who  have 
been  in  places  are  so  much  mcer  than  books  of  travel, 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  12^ 

or  than  any  books,  I  think,  except  one  or  two.  And 
then,"  she  continued,  taking  Winnie  to  the  window, 
"  it  is  so  pleasant  that  there  is  a  corner  of  the 
churchyard  in  sight.  If  you  squeeze  your  face  a 
very  little  against  the  glass  you  can  see  a  tree. 
And  it  is  delightful  to  watch  it  in  spring  getting 
more  beautiful  every  day." 

Winnie  had  some  difficulty  in  taking  in  the 
catalogue  of  Grace's  pleasures.  So  she  turned  the 
conversation  and  said :  ' 

"  But  what  are  your  Sunday  books  ?" 

Grace  paused  a  little  to  consider,  and  then'  she 
said  : 

"  I  have  none." 

"  Not  one  Sunday  book!"  exclaimed  Winnie,  fix- 
ing her  questioning  eyes  on  Grace,  in  some  doubt 
whether  to  attribute  such  destitution  to  a  confusion 
in  Grace's  ideas  about  Sunday,  or  to  a  poverty 
which  seemed  inconceivable—"  Not  one  ?" 
.  "  JSTo,  I  think  not,"  replied  Grace,  not  at  all  de- 
spondingly,  yet  in  a  tone  of  apology,  "  unless  it  is 
Paradise  Lost.  I  do  not  think  Shakspeare  is  quite 
one,  nor  Homer,  although  it  often  helps  me  on  Sun- 
days, and  every  day,  to  think  of  them.  There  are 
father's  books  for  his  sermons,  but  I  never  thought 
of  reading  them.  They  look  so  much  the  same  all 
the  way  through,  and  there  are  so  few  proper  names ; 
and  then  they  seem  all  about  things,  not  about  peo- 
ple, like  the  Bible.  Of  course  there  is  the  Bible," 
she  concluded  reverently ;  "  but  that  is  not  a  Sun- 
day book,  is  it  ?  The  Bible  is  for  Sundays,  and 
every  day,  and  always." 


1 24  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

"  How  very  strange !"  said  Winnie.  "  I  have 
dozens  of  Sunday  books.  Do  let  me  give  you  some 
of  them.  It  is  not  worth  calling  a  present,"  she 
added  candidly,  "  for  except  two  or  three  I  never 
cared  very  much  about  them.  They  are  like  Mr. 
Leigh's  books  for  the  sermons — round  and  round, 
always  .the  same.  But  I  always  thought  that  was 
because  of  my  not  being  good.  And  you  are  good," 
concluded  Winnie,  in  the  delicious  confidence  of  her 
first  living  hero-worship,  "  so  you  might  like  them. 
And  at  all  events  they  might  be  better,  than  nothing. 
What  can  you  do  with  yourself  on  Sundays  without 
the  garden  and  without  books  ?" 

It  was  Grace's  turn  to  be  astonished. 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  she  said,  "  but  what 
could  I  do  with  more  books  on  Sundays  ?  There 
is  never  half  enough  time.  And  all  the  time  there 
is  passes  so  quickly.  I  always  get  up  a  little  earlier 
because  father  likes  breakfast  early,  and  because 
it  is  Sunday ;  and  there  is  such  a  fresh  happy  feeling 
about  it  always.  Then  there  are  the  sermons." 

"  You  like  sermons,"  said  Winnie,  despondingly. 

"I  think  all  sermons  are  nice,"  replied  Grace, 
"  at  least  there  is  always  something  nice  in  them. 
And  the  text  always."  Grace's  criticism  being  of 
that  happy  kind  which  darts  on  a  pearl  as  eagerly  as 
some  critics  on  a  flaw.  "  Then  there  is  the  Sunday 
school,  and  it  is  such  a  delight  to  meet  the  little 
children." 

"  You  have  a  class  at  the  Sunday-school  ?"  said 
Winnie,  more  awed  by  this  dignity  than  by  any  of 
her  other  discoveries.  "  You  really  teach  little  chil- 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  i2$ 

dren  ?   What  can  you  find  to  say  ?    It  must  be  like 
making  a  sermon." 

"  They  are  only  the  little  ones,  and  I  know  them 
all  so  well,"  said  Grace.  "  It  is  only  like  talking. 
And  they  like  to  tell  me  things.  And,"  she  con- 
cluded, her  quiet  face  kindling  as  she  spoke,  "I 
think  it  is  the  happiest  hour  in  all  the  week,  that 
and  one  besides.  For  I  tell  them  about  Jesus  from 
the  Gospels.  .  And  sometimes  it  seems  as  if  the 
Gospels  were  written  just  on  purpose  for  little 
children.  There  is  so  much  they  care  to  listen  to 
there.  I  think  there  are  no  stories  half  so  beautiful ; 
if  they  were  only  stories.  Think  of  all  the  people 
HE  made  happy,  and  how  well  we  seem  to  know 
them  all ; — the  poor  blind  men  the  people  tried  to 
keep  quiet,  but  Jesus  would  listen ;  the  poor  woman 
with  the  sick  daughter  they  wanted  Him  to  send 
away,  but  Jesus  would  help  her ;  the  little  children 
they  tried  to  keep  back,  but  He  would  have  them 
close  in  his  arms,  on  his  bosom,  his  hand  on  their 
heads,  resting  there ;  the  woman  with  the  box  of 
precious  ointment  they  complained  of,  but  He 
spoke  such  kind  words  to  !  And  then  the  things  He 
said,  and  the  places  where  He  said  them — the  sea- 
shores, and  the  gardens,  and  the  sides  of  the  beau- 
tiful hills,  and  the  tops  of  the  mountains,  and  walk- 
ing through  the  corn-fields ;  and  even  the  streets.  He 
walked  through  the  streets,  I  am  always  so  glad  of 
that.  And  then  the  things  He  noticed — the  lilies, 
the  sparrows,  and  the  two  mites.  One  does  seem  to 
know  what  many  of  the  old  heroes  and  kings  would 
have  looked  on  grand  occasions.  But  with  Jesus," 
11* 


126  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

she  said  very  softly,  "  you  seem  to  know  such  beau- 
tiful little  things  as  well  as  the  great  ones — you 
seem  to  feel  what  his  very  touch  was  on  the  heads 
of  the  little  children,  and  the  blind  eyes,  and  the 
poor  leper;  and  what  his  look  was,  and  how  he 
must  have  said  the  things.  And  then,  you  know, 
they  are  not  made-up  stories,  but  truer  than 
the  truest  history  in  the  world.  And  not  like  the 
histories  about  people  that  are  dead  and  gone.  For 
Jesus,"  she  concluded,  "  you  know,  is  living ;  and 
He  never  goes  away,  and  never  will.  And  it  is  so 
delightful  to  talk  to  the  poor  little  children  about 
him.  For  some  of  them  have  such  poor  sad  homes, 
and  if  you  can  only  make  them  feel  Jesus  is  with 
them  there — not  at  church  or  at  school  only,  but  at 
home !" 

"  I  should  like  to  be  one  of  your  Sunday  class," 
said  Winnie,  putting  her  arms  round  Grace  and 
nestling  her  head  on  her  shoulder.  "  But  what  is 
your  other  happiest  hour  ?" 

Grace  colored  a  little  and  paused,  and  then  she 
said: 

"  I  never  spoke  of  it  to  any  one.  But  it  is  when 
the  evening  service  is  over  in  the  church,  and  the 
last  footstep  has  passed  out  of  hearing,  and  the  last 
note  of  the  organ  has  died  away,  and  yet  the  music 
seems  still  there,  and  the  sexton  is  putting  out  the 
lights  one  by  one,  so  that  the  church  gets  almost 
dark,  and  the  sky  looks  down,  dark  blue,  through 
the  top  of  the  windows  above  the  galleries.  Father 
has  always  something  to  do  in  the  vestry,  and 
Harry  goes  round  helping  to  put  out  the  lights,  and 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED 


127 


then  goes  to  join  Father.  And  our  pew  is  square, 
just  under  the  reading-desk;  and  in  the  corner  no 
one  sees  me.  Then  it  is  so  solemn  in  the  empty 
church,  and  I  am  so  tired,  and  so  happy  ;  and  God 
seems  so  near  ;  and  I  think  of  my  school  children, 
how  they  are  asleep  in  their  homes,  and  God  is  near 
them  too,  and  I  ask  him  to  bless  them  ;  and  I  think 
of  mother,  how  she  has  gone  home,  and  how  near 
she  is  to  God,  and  that  she  does  not  look  up  to 
heaven  through  a  little  strip  of  a  church  window, 
but  is  there,  not  in  darkness,  but  in  the  light,  at 
church  and  at  home  at  once.  And  I  wonder  how  it 
will  feel  when  the  last  day's  work  is  done,  and  I 
shall  be  tired  and  yet  happy,  as  she  looked  when  I 
saw  her  last,  and  she  smiled  on  me  ;  and  I  long  to 
see  her  smile  again  and  to  hear  her  say,  *  Grace, 
you  have  taken  good  care  of  your  Father  and 
Harry,  and  now  we  will  rest  together.'  And  then 
I  think  of  the  welcome  Jesus  will  give,  and  what  it 
must  be  to  see  Him  smile  and  look  really  pleased, 
and  to  hear  Him  say  'Well  done.'  Because  you 
know,"  she  said,  "  we  are  not  told  He  ever  did  smile 
on  earth,  and  they  did  so  much  to  grieve  Him,  so 
little  to  please  Him.  And  yet,"  she  concluded,  "  I 
do  think  He  is  more  ready  to  be  pleased  with  us 
than  any  one;  such  little  things  please  Him,  if  we 
really  try.  And  then  I  give  up  thinking,  and  look 
up  to  Him." 

There  was  a  silence,  and  then  Winnie  came  out  ' 
with  her  long-delayed  question  : 

"  How  did  you  know  ?    What  made  you  choose 
that  text  and  illuminate  it  for  me  ?" 


128  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

"Mr.  Bertram  had  been  so  kind  in  helping 
Harry,"  said  Grace,  "  and  he  had  so  often  talked  to 
us  about  you." 

"  Bat  that  text — how  could  you  know  how  I  cared 
for  it,  or  that  mamma  had  written  it  in  my  Bible  ?" 

"  I  only  know  how  I  cared  for  it  and  mother," 
replied  Grace ;  and  opening  a  little  thick  old  Bible 
bound  in  faded  red  morocco  she  showed  Winnie 
written  on  the  first  page,  first  in  a  clerical  hand, 
"  Grace  Ratcliffe  from  H.  L. ;"  and  then  in  a  trem- 
bling, delicate  hand  below,  "  Grace  Leigh,  from  her 
mother ;"  and  below,  the  text :  "  We  love  Him  because 
He  first  loved  us" 

"  Does  it  not  seem  as  if  God  meant  we  should 
love  each  other  ?"  said  Winnie.  "  Well,  Grace,  will 
you  love  me  and  be  my  own  friend  ?" 

"It  does  seem  as  if  God  means  us  to  love  each 
other,"  said  Grace.  "  I  like  to  think  He  means,  bet- 
ter than  that  He  meant.  Because  you  know  He  has 
not  only  planned  something  for  us  long  ago  and 
gone  away — He  is  with  us  now.  And  I  think  we 
are  friends,"  she  concluded,  "and  I  am  sure  I  do 
love  you." 

And  so  the  children  returned  to  the  sitting-room, 
and  Grace's  portfolio  was  brought  out,  with  which 
Winnie  was  a  little  disappointed ;  for  except  some 
half-finished  illuminations  and  some  sketches  in 
chalk  of  Greek  sculpture,  it  contained  chiefly  water- 
color  drawings  of  parsley-leaves  and  mosses  and 
even  of  cabbage-leaves  and  baskets  of  turnips, 
which  Winnie's  ideas  of  Grace's  powers  had  been 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


129 


soaring  too  high  altogether  to  appreciate.  There 
was  one  little  sketch,  however,  of  a  harebell  throw- 
ing the  shadow  of  its  delicate  stem  over  a  tuft  of 
ivory-white  woodrooffe  and  bright  green  turf  which 
seemed  to  Winnie,  she  could  not  tell  why,  like  one 
of  Anderson's  fairy  tales,  which  she  thought  so 
pleasant  because  she  was  always  half-guessing  their 
meaning,  and  never  quite.  And  this  Grace  insisted 
on  her  taking  home  as  a  present. 

"  Maurice,"  said  Winnie,  after  a  long  silence,  as 
they  were  driving  home  together,  "  how  did  you 
first  find  out  Grace  Leigh  ?" 

"  About  two  years  since,"  he  said,  "  I  was  taking 
the  duty  for  a  few  weeks,  as  curate,  in  the  next 
parish  to  Mr.  Leigh.  I  had  known  him  before,  and 
had  often  met  him  at  meetings,  but  I  had  never 
been  to  his  house,  until,  one  evening. in  January, 
when  it  had  been  snowing  all  day,  and  the  snow 
had  frozen  so  that  the  horses  were  falling  in  the 
slippery  streets,  I  heard  a  knock  at  my  door,  and 
my  landlady  introduced  '  Miss  Leigh.' 

"  I  looked  up,  expecting  to  see  some  strange  lady 
on  business,  probably  an  energetic  elderly  district 
visitor  for  a  subscription.  But  instead,  I  saw  before 
me  a  little  person,  apparently  not  more  than  ten  or 
eleven  years  old,  in  a  large  shawl  tied  around  and 
across  her,  as  if  she  had  been  a  parcel.  On  her 
head  was  a  tiny  straw  bonnet,  looking  as  if  it  had 
been  meant  for  a  younger  child,  which  half  fell  off 
her  head,  and  underneath  it  looked  out  that  grave, 
sweet  little  face,  more  shaded  by  its  own,  long  fair 


130  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

curls  than  by  her  bonnet.  In  that  quaint  dress, 
with  her  bright  hair  all  flaked  with  snow,  she  looked 
like  a  Christmas  fairy,  who,  having  some  benevo- 
lent reason  for  paying  a  visit  to  our  world,  had  dis- 
guised herself  in  the  first  stray  garments  she  could 
lay  her  hands  on.  Yet  the  little  face  was  human 
enough,  with  its  earnest,  pleading  look,  trembling, 
too,  as  she  was  with  cold.  I  begged  her  to  warm 
herself  at  the  fire ;  but  she  said,  in  a  soft,  childish 
voice,  without  any  pause  (as  if  she  had  wound  her- 
self up  for  a  great  effort  and  would  break  down 
altogether  if  she  hesitated  a  moment) :  "  Please,  Mr. 
Bertram,  I  cannot  stay,  Father  is  very  ill  in  bed, 
and  he  will  want  me,  he  does  not  know  I  came  out, 
but  he  spoke  of  you,  and  the  other  day  you  were 
kind  to  our  little  Harry  when  a  big  boy  had  knocked 
him  down  in  the  street  and  taken  away  his  marbles, 
and  I  thought  you  would  help  us  now,  for  Mrs. 
Treherne  says  it  would  be  death  to  Father  to  go 
out  and  preach  to-morrow,  and  I  was  afraid  the 
church  would  stop,  or  Father  would  go  and  never 
get  better,  and  J  did  not  know  what  else  to  do,  so 
please,  Mr.  Bertram,  you  will  try  and  come  and  help 
Father,  won't  you,  that  the  church  may  not  stop." 
As  I  listened  to  her,  the  whole  gravity  of  the  situ- 
ation gradually  unfolded  itself.  This  little  creature 
was  actually  a  little  Atlas,  bearing  on  her  small 
shoulders  the  whole  ecclesiastical  weight  of  the 
parish.  Taking  Mrs.  Treherne's  prognostications 
literally,  she  saw  before  her  only  two  awful  alterna- 
tives— her  father  going  out  and  killing  himself; 
or  the  whole  congregation  sitting,  expectant,  before 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  131 

the  empty  reading-desk.  And  without  hesitation 
ehe  had  thrown  her  little  person  into  the  chasm. 
So  I  said, '  Don't  be  afraid,  Miss  Leigh.  Mr.  Leigh 
need  not  attempt  to  go  out,  and  the  church  shall 
not  stop;  I  will  arrange  it  all.'  The  weight  of 
responsibility  glided  off  from  the  little  anxious  face 
at  once.  She  said,  '  I  am  not  Miss  Leigh,  I  am  only 
little  Grace.'  Then  I  told  her  I  would  go  back 
with  her  to  her  father  at  once.  For,  with  the  re- 
sponsibility, had  melted  away  the  courage :  tears 
were  gathering  in  her  eyes,  and  her  lips  quivered — 
not  with  cold.  She  let  me  take  her  dear  little  cold 
hand  in  mine,  and  lead  her  back  through  the  slip- 
pery streets  to  Mrs.  Treherne's  shop,  entirely  trust- 
ing the  rest  of  the  negotiations  to  me.  Mr.  Leigh's 
illness  was  more  than  half  on  the  nerves.  The 
relief  from  the  dread  of  having  to  undertake  the 
service  went  some  way  towards  strengthening  him 
to  do  it.  I  read  the  morning-prayers  and  by  the 
afternoon  he  was  well  enough  to  read  the  service, 
before  I  preached.  But  since  then  little  Grace  and 
I  have  always  been  friends." 

Winnie  relapsed  for  some  time  into  meditation, 
and  then  she  said,(  "  What  a  delightful  long  day 
this  is  to  think  of!  I  have  found  out  about  the 
Five  Worlds,  and  about  the  British  Museum  leading 
into  them  ;  and  I  have  found  out  a  friend — oh,  such 
a  friend,  Maurice  !  I  think  Grace  is  Ethel.  I  think 
she  can  never  have  known  for  a  moment  what  it  is 
to  be  in  the  contracting  chamber.  I  think  she  has 
one  of  the  magic  wands  in  the  Palace  of  Art.  And 
she  loves  me,  Maurice ;  I  do  feel  sure  she  .does :  and 


132  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

she  is  going  to  help  me.  Only,  Maurice,"  she  con- 
tinued, "  I  do  think  it  is  easier  to  be  good  if  you 
are  poor,  at  least  rather  poor,  than  if  you  are  rich. 
It  takes  Uncle  and  Aunt  O'Brien  so  much  trouble 
to  make  lessons,  and  then  to  make  amusements 
for  me.  And  to  Grace,  and  even  partly  to  little 
Fan,  the  lessons  and  the  pleasures  seem  to  come 
without  any  one  taking  any  trouble  about  it,  all 
mixed  up  together ;  and  that  does  seem  nicer  on 
the  whole.  Do  you  think  God  settles  it  in  that 
way,  and  that  is  why  He  makes  so  many  people 
poor,  and  so  few  people  rich  ?" 

"  I  do  think  riches  are  a  very  poor  providence, 
when  they  are  put  instead  of  God's  providence 
Winnie,"  he  said ;  "  but  if  you  ask  and  watch  and 
really  wish  it,  you  will  find  God  will  take  your  les- 
sons and  your  pleasures  under  His  care  as  much  as 
little  Fan's  or  Grace  Leigh's." 

Rosalie  was  much  perplexed  at  Winne's  recital 
of  her  birthday  delights. 

"  You  have  taken  off  all  the  first  freshness  of  your 
beautiful  dress  among  the  lowest  of  the  people  in 
an  omnibus,"  she  said ;  "  you  have  had  tea  in  the 
most  wretched  faubourg  over  the  shop  of  a  seller 
of  turnips  ;  and  you  might  have  driven  with  mad- 
ame  like  a  princess  through  the  parks,  and  been 
enthroned  in  the  evening  in  your  robe  de  fete  under 
a  canopy  of  myrtles,  with  hair  crowned  with  roses 
like  a  fairy  queen,  receiving  the  homage  of  the 
young  ladies  and  gentlemen  your  companions,  and 
afterwards  a  dance,  ravishing  as  the  opera.  But," 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  133 

concluded  mademoiselle  in  the  grand  style,  rush- 
ing to  rash  generalizations,  "  your  nation  is  a 
sphynx,  an  enigma.  To  you  amusement  is  a  seri- 
ous work,  and  serious  work  is  a  pastime.  But 
what  does  it  matter?  Each  must  fulfill  his 
destiny  1" 

12 


CHAPTER  V. 


JT  is  time  to  give  a  more  succinct  narrative 
of  Grace  Leigh's  history ;  to  fill  up  the 
gaps  between  the  glimpses  she  had  un- 
consciously given  Winifred  into  her  life 
and  the  world  she  lived  in. 

When  about  fifteen  years  ago  Mr.  Leigh  had 
brought  his  bride  a  governess  and  an  orphan  to 
Mrs.  Treherne's  lodgings,  it  was  a  great  change  to 
her  from  the  country  town  where  the  rest  of  her 
life  had  been  spent,  and  where  she  knew  the  faces 
and  something  of  the  history  of  almost  every  one 
she  met.  At  first  the  more  prosperous  parishioners 
had  called  upon  them  ;  and  they  might  have  lived 
in  a  round  of  small  entertainments.  The  incumb- 
ents had  long  since  fled  to  fairer  regions,  and  a 
curate  under  the  circumstances  was  not  to  be  des- 
pised. Among  these  new  acquaintances,  there  were 
more  than  one  kind-hearted  family  who  perplexed 
themselves  how  to  increase  the  comforts  so  evi- 
dently needed  by  the  delicate-looking  wife,  without 
(134) 


WINIFRED  BERTRAM.  l^ 

wounding  the  feelings  of  Mr.  Leigh.  But  Mrs. 
Leigh's  health  had  gradually  grown  feebler  and 
feebler.  She  pined  for  air,  and  open  spaces  of 
fields  and  sky,  and  could  not  walk  far  enough  to 
reach  them.  So  that  visiting  proved  a  toil,  (to  say 
nothing  of  the  expense  involved  in  the  simplest 
attempts  to  dress  as  her  husband  liked),  and  her 
life  had  become  more  and  more  secluded.  More- 
over, the  one  little  maid,  who  was  all  they  could 
afford,  was  by  no  means  to  be  trusted  with  the  sole 
responsibility  of  one  baby ;  much  less  of  the  four 
babies  who  co-existed,  when  Grace  was  four  years 
old  and  Harry  was  just  born. 

And  then  the  two  intermediate  babies  died.  A 
great  relief  to  every  one  who  looked  at  the  matter 
from  a  statistical  point  of  view.  But  to  poor  Mrs. 
Leigh  they  were  her  darling  little  baby  Alice  and 
her  prattling  Georgie,  whose  loss  cost  her  nights 
of  weeping,  and  agonies  of  yearning,  when  she 
woke  from  her  brief  morning  sleep,  for  one  more 
tender  clinging  of  the  soft  arms  and  pressure  of 
the  warm  cheek  to  hers.  She  had  "  a  foolish  coun- 
try fancy "  too,  she  said,  to  look  now  and  then  at 
their  little  graves.  And  she  was  never  strong 
enough  to  go  to  the  cemetery  amidst  the  far-off 
fields,  which  had  been  assigned  to  the  parish 
instead  of  the  dark  damp  churchyard  closed  some 
years  before  by  the  laws  against  intramural  inter- 
ment. So  that,  although  she  tried  very  hard  to  get 
strong,  the  struggle  against  want  of  fresh  air, 
and  sorrow  and  care  proved  altogether  too  much 
for  her ;  and  when  Grace  was  nine  and  Harry  five, 


136  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

that  happened  which  made  Gracie  a  little  woman 
before  her  time. 

One  morning  Mrs.  Leigh  told  Grace  to  bring  her 
the  red  morocco  Bible ;  and  she  wrote  the  child's 
name  in  it,  with  the  text  Winnie  had  seen,  and 
said :  "  Read  it  every  morning  and  every  evening, 
Gracie,  for  mother's  sake,  &nd  for  Jesus'  sake." 
And  three  evenings  afterwards,  when  she  wished 
Grace  good-night,  she  said,  in  a  very  feeble  little 
whisper,  "  Take  care  of  father,  and  of  little  Harry, 
Gracie,  darling,  and  God  will  take  care  of  you." 
And  then  she  gave  her  a  long,  long  kiss,  and  that 
was  the  last  mother's  kiss  little  Grace  ever  had. 

Grace  could  not  remember  any  details  of  what 
happened  next.  Nothing  seemed  to  happen  for 
many  days.  It  seemed  like  a  long  week,  with  no 
distinction  of  evenings  or  mornings,  days  or  nights, 
all  dark  and  cold  alike ;  and  at  the  end,  the  light 
let  in  again  as  if  on  desolate  empty  rooms,  although 
everything  was  unchanged  in  them,  even  to  the 
work-basket  with  the  unfinished  frill  in  it  for 
Harry's  best  frock.  And  her  father  sobbing  like  a 
child,  with  his  head  hidden  on  his  hands ;  and 
Harry,  pleased  at  the  blinds  drawn  up,  chirruping 
to  the  horses  in  the  streets  ;  and  little  Grace  hold- 
ing him  on  her  knee,  and  trying  to  make  him  happy 
in  a  quiet  way  till  bed-time  ;  and  then  putting  him 
to  bed  herself,  and  talking  to  him,  and  having  a 
little  struggle  to  make  him  say  his  "  Gentle  Jesus, 
meek  and  mild,"  to  her  instead  of  to  his  mother, 
and  soothing  him  as  well  as  she  could  until  he  fell 
asleep;  and  then  coming  down  and  venturing  to 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  i^j 

nestle  in  close  to  her  father,  until  he  drew  his  arm 
round  her,  and  felt  for  the  first  time  that  his  grief 
was  not  utterly  unfathomable,  that  in  the  terrible 
void  ther>e  were  still  some  precious  treasures  of 
love  left. 

That  was  how  Grace's  history  began.  Before 
that  terrible  week  all  the  days  were  uncounted 
days  of  Eden  ;  days  of  being  loved,  and  cared  for, 
and  helped,  and  cherished;  a  mother's  heart  be- 
tween her  and  the  world  ;  a  mother's  love  and  care 
making  visible  to  her  the  love  and  care  of  God. 

But  after  that  all  was  changed ;  the  Eden  faded, 
and  the  tender  self-denying  woman's  life,  which  is 
such  a  well-trodden  way  to  the  better  Eden,  began. 

"  For  mother's  sake,  and  for  Jesus'  sake ;  and 
take  care  of  father,  and  little  Harry,  and  God  will 
take  care  of  you,"  was  the  illuminated  text  running 
through  all  her  days. 

As  the  months  passed  on,  little  Grace's  life  be- 
came a  far  brighter  one  than  her  mother's  could 
ever  have  been.  She  had  no  contracted  memories 
of  sweet,  quiet  country  lanes  and  fields,  to  make 
the  streets  seem  dingier  and  noisier.  The  very 
holiday  excursions,  the  half-country  places,  which 
would  have  recalled  the  real  country  painfully  to 
her  mother,  were  a  rapture  to  little  Grace.  The 
quick  sense  of  beauty  which  was  frequently  a  tor- 
ture to  the  negative  artist-nature  of  Mr.  Leigh,  was 
a  constant  source  of  joy  to  the  positive  artist-nature 
of  his  little  daughter,  with  her  happy  temper,  and 
her  quiet  healthy  nerves. 

The  mere  light  and  shade  of  the  outline  of  the 
12* 


138  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

houses  on  a  sunny  day  gave  her  pleasure ;  the 
fresh  vegetables  and  baskets  of  fruits  in  the  green- 
grocer's shop  were  a  feast  of  color  to  her ;  and  the 
blooming  of  the  market-gardens  on  the  other  side 
of  the  river,  or  even  the  budding  of  the  leaves  in 
the  churchyard,  brought  all  the  spring  into  her 
heart. 

Not  that  little  Grace  had  no  dark  days.  No 
one  who  has  days  worth  calling  bright  can  be 
without  them. 

Saturdays  were  very  often  dark  days,  because 
Mr.  Leigh  then  finished  his  sermon  for  Sunday 
afternoon.  And  although  there  were  seldom  more 
than  twenty  people,  chiefly  old  women  and  servant- 
girls,  to  hear  it,  Mr.  Leigh  had  a  rigid  ideal  of  his 
own,  quite  independent  of  audience  or  effect,  which 
he  never  could  satisfy. 

Then  there  were  very  anxious  hours  as  the  time 
went  on  and  Harry  went  to  school,  when  he  did 
not  reappear  at  the  hour  when  he  was  due,  and  at 
last  came  back  with  downcast  face,  very  much 
aggrieved  with  the  master,  or  the  lesson,  or  things 
in  general,  which  had  caused  him  to  have  an  impo- 
sition and  to  be  kept  in.  For  Harry  was  one  of 
the  many  sufferers  by  the  confusion  of  tongues,  or 
rather,  as  Mrs.  Treherne  viewed  the  case,  by  the 
interference  with  Providence  of  the  philologists 
who  tried  to  do  away  with  its  effects. 

"  The  people  were  scattered  on  the  face  of  the 
earth,"  she  would  say,  as  she  wiped  Harry's  tear- 
stained  face,  and  administered  to  him  a  consolatory 
orange,  or  a  piece  of  cake,  "  and  made  to  speak 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  139 

different  languages  on  purpose  that  they  mightn't 
understand  each  other.  And  I  say  it's  a  cruel 
thing,  Caleb  Treherne,  and  an  ungodly  thing,  to  be 
torturing  poor  motherless  lambs  like  Master  Harry, 
just  to  undo  what  the  Lord  saw  fit  to  do  thou- 
sands of  years  ago." 

A  view  of  philology  against  which  Mr.  Treherne 
ventured  no  remonstrance,  and  which  Harry  thought 
very  enlightened.  For  Harry's  delights  were  not, 
it  must  be  confessed,  in  the  great  deeds  of  Caesar, 
or  in  the  heroes  of  Homer ;  but  in  carving  boxes 
and  sticks  with  his  tools,  and  in  researches  among 
the  ponds  on  the  remote  wilds  of  Hampstead  Heath 
for  tadpoles  and  tittlebatSj  which  he  brought  home 
in  triumph  on  half  holidays. 

But  the  darkest  day  for  the  family  was  the 
annual  visit  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Felix  Hunter,  who 
lived  with  a  family  of  young  Hunters  in  a  large 
house  in  Bedford  Square.  Cousin  Felix  was  a  suc- 
cessful man,  and  he  was  steeped  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  this;  not  that  he  obtruded  the  fact  on 
others,  but  he  felt  he  was  an  example,  and  the 
whole  family  shared  the  sentiment.  The  footman 
condescendingly  opened  the  door  and  closed  it  on 
Mr.  Leigh,  and  crept  with  a  noiseless  dignity  about 
the  house  in  the  consciousness  he  was  an  example 
to  footmen.  The  nursery  was  a  model  nursery. 
The  children  were  examples  from  the  cradle.  The 
little  Master  Hunters  trundled  their  hoops  with  a 
sober  self-possession  round  the  square  gardens ; 
and  the  little  Miss  Hunters  daintily  dandled  their 
dolls  in  a  way  which  was  an  example  to  nurse- 


!  4.0  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

maids.  The  very  babies  sucked  their  thumbs  in 
an  exemplary  manner,  and  looked  at  you  with  a 
calm  stare  of  superiority,  as  if  they  felt  they  were 
"  representative  babies."  So  that,  altogether,  Mr. 
Leigh,  who  was  never  satisfied  with  himself  or  any- 
thing he  did  ;  and  Harry,  who  was  liable  to  human 
infirmities ;  and  Grace,  who  felt  every  slight  to 
Mr.  Leigh  far  more  than  if  it  had  been  inflicted  on 
herself,  and  every  solecism  of  Harry's  far  more 
than  if  she  had  committed  it  herself,  generally 
returned  from  Bedford  Square  on  that  memor- 
able day  in  a  very  cowed  and  humbled  state  of 
mind. 

Not  that  Mr.  Felix  Hunter  made  any  especial 
efforts  to  impress  Mr.  Leigh  with  the  sense  of  his 
comparative  merits  ;  he  intended  to  be  very  affable 
and  condescending.  At  first,  indeed,  when  his  poor 
cousin  Mary  married  the  poor  curate,  he  did  feel  it 
a  duty  to  press  on  him  the  necessity  of  making 
some  effort.  "  What  would  even  he  himself  have 
been  unless  he  had  made  his  own  way?"  He 
recommended  Mr.  Leigh  to  try  for  sundry  lecture- 
ships in  the  city,  and  even  to  apply  to  some  distin- 
guished patrons  to  whom  Mr.  Hunter  gave  him 
introductions.  But  Mr.  Leigh — after  enduring 
agonies  of  conflict  between  his  modesty  and  his 
duty  to  his  family,  and  trying  two  or  three  times, 
and  being  found  nowhere  on  the  list  of  candidates, 
and  receiving  two  or  three  polite  letters  from  pri- 
vate secretaries  of  distinguished  patrons  acknow- 
ledging that  "  his  lordship  had  received  his  letters, 
and  had  the  greatest  respect  for  Mr.  Hunter,  and 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  l^i 

would  consider  Mr.  Leigh's  claims,  but  there  were 
so  many  imperative  demands,  etc. — "  gave  up  the 
struggle  in  despair.  And  thenceforward  Mr.  Hun- 
ter admitted  that  some  people  are  born  ineffective, 
and  proceeded  to  turn  the  whole  blaze  of  his 
example  on  Harry,  confounding  him  with  glimpses 
of  wonderful  prizes  bound  in  calf  which  he  had 
gained  at  public  schools,  and  with  impressive  moral 
tales  about  what  energy  and  ability  can  do,  illus- 
trated from  his  own  autobiography.  Everything, 
he  said,  depended  on  taking  the  right  turn  at  the 
right  moment. 

Meantime  Mrs.  Hunter,  who  knew,  she  said,  that 
good  little  girls  like  to  make  themselves  useful, 
usually  employed  Grace  in  covering  up  and  putting 
away  ornaments  and  knick-knacks  displayed  at  the 
grand  party  of  the  previous  day,  and  rewarded  her 
by  showing  her  some  gigantic  drawings  in  colored 
chalks  by  her  cousin  Alicia ;  large  enough  for  the 
ceiling  of  a  Town-hall,  and  "  very  effective,"  Mrs. 
Hunter  said.  Once,  at  her  father's  desire,  Grace 
had  brought  a  delicate  little  coloring  of  a  primrose, 
which  cousin  Alicia  condescended  to  say  was  "  very 
nicely  done  for  a  child ;"  but,  she  observed,  that 
"  flowers "  had  quite  "  gone  out."  Indeed,  she 
spoke  in  a  deprecatory  way  of  her  own  pictures ; 
and  stated  that  next  half  she  was  to  paint  histori- 
cal pictures  in  oils  after  the  great  masters ;  which 
made  Grace  feel  as  small  beside  her  accomplished 
cousin  as  her  primrose  "beside  the  colossal  chalk 
drawing,  one  tuft  of  herbage  in  the  foreground 
of  which  was  as  large  as  the  whole  primrose 


142  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

plant  together ;  and  "  all  done,"  as  Miss  Alicia 
said  triumphantly,  "  in  three  or  four  hours." 

Mrs.  Hunter's  self-complacency  took  a  different 
form  from  that  of  Mr.  Hunter.  With  Mr.  Hunter 
everything  he  possessed  was  a  model ;  with  Mrs. 
Hunter  all  her  possessions,  at  least  if  Grace  or  Mr. 
Leigh  praised  them,  were  "  mere  every-day  things," 
thrown  entirely  into  the  shade  by  some  unknown 
magnificencies,  that  once  had  been,  or  one  day 
were  to  be,  hers, .  or  which  belonged  to  some 
acquaintance,  who  threw  a  reflected  glory  on  her, 
from  a  region  altogether  beyond  the  possibility  of 
Grace  ever  attaining  even  to  the  beatific  vision  of. 

So  the  day  wore  on  until  the  close,  when  Mr. 
Hunter,  having  hospitably  handed  his  guest  to  the 
door,  returned,  and  said  to  Mrs.  Hunter,  "  Well,  it 
is  something  to  give  those  poor  things  one  good 
dinner  and  one  happy  day  in  the  year." 

But  Mr.  Leigh  meanwhile  was  returning  home 
with  a  depressing  sense  that  he  ought  in  some  way 
to  have  deserved  and  earned  a  large  house  in  Bed- 
ford Square,  and  that  he  and  his  family  were  alto- 
gether, ecclesiastically  and  socially,  a  failure  and  a 
mistake,  which  depressing  conviction  was  not 
usually  relieved  until  some  time  in  the  next  Mon- 
day afternoon  holiday,  when  Mr.  Leigh  would  say 
to  Grace : 

"  Gracie,  my  child,  if  we  do  our  best,  God  is  very 
compassionate ;  and  we  cannot  all  be  so  successful 
as  Cousin  Felix.  I  don't  really  think  we  can.  I 
am  very  sorry  I  had  no  better  home  for  your  poor 
dear  mother,  and  for  you  and  Harry ;  but  the  living 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  143 

is  a  hundred  a  year,  and  the  chaplaincy  to  the 
Union  is  fifty  pounds  more ;  and  I  don't  see  how  I 
could  get  more,  Gracie.  I  know  I  ought  to  have 
"been  a  more  successful  man,  Grace,  and  to  have 
taken  the  right  turn  ;  but,  indeed,  I  can't  think 
where  it'  was  I  took  the  wrong  turn.  I  don't  really 
think  every  one  can  succeed  like  Cousin  Felix,  do 
what  they  will." 

And  Grace,  leaning  like  a  small  woman  on  her 
father's  arm,  would  press  the  other  hand  round  it 
and  say : 

"  I  would  not  have  you  like  Mr.  Hunter,  or  like 
any  one  but  yourself,  father,  for  the  world.  I  think 
one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year  regularly  is  a 
fortune  ;  and  I  know  the  Miss  Lovels  do.  It  would 
be  quite  ungrateful,  you  know,  not  to  think  so  :  and 
then  think  how  two  or  three  of  the  people  attend 
sometimes  when  you  preach,  and  how  the  poor  old 
people  in  the  Workhouse  look  for  you.  A  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds  a  year,  father  !"  concluded  Grace ; 
"  and  then  for  such  work — reading  the  Bible  and 
comforting  and  teaching  people  !  Is  not  that  bet- 
ter than  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  a  year  for 
doing  other  things — poor  worldly  things,  that  do 
no  one  any  good  ?" 

Thus  Mr.  Leigh  always  resigned  himself  to  be 
comforted. 

"  Poor  sermons  mine,  Grace,  I  am  afraid,"  he 
would  say  fondly,  "  to  teach  and  comfort  people  ! 
But  I  do  always  feel  it  an  honor  to  read  the  pray- 
ers and  the  lessons.  Yet  you  must  not  undervalue 
other  people's  callings,  Gracie.  Cousin  Felix  may 


I44  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

serve  God  in  his  calling  as  well  as  I  in  mine."     To 
which  Grace  attempted  no  reply. 

It  was  quite  true  that  the  Miss  Lovels  thought  a 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year  regularly  quite  a 
fortune. 

The  regular  income  of  the  Miss  Lovels  was  ten 
pounds  a  year,  from  some  mysterious  fund  for  the 
orphans  of  naval  officers.  Their  father  had  been 
a  lieutenant  in  the  navy ;  their  mother  a  pretty 
portionless  daughter  of  a  lieutenant  in  the  marines. 
Cousin  Felix  would  have  disposed  of  the  Miss 
Levels'  existence  at  once  without  further  solicitude. 
"  Such  people  as  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lovel  had  no  right 
to  marry.  Therefore,  of  course,  the  Miss  Lovels 
had  no  right  to  exist.  Their  existence  was  alto- 
gether a  mistake,  and  an  impertinent  intrusion  into 
the  universe.  There  was  no  place  provided  for  them 
at  the  world's  table ;  society  had  never  invited  or 
expected  them  at  all ;  and,  accordingly,  they 
could  never  be  too  thankful  if  they  were  permitted 
now  and  then  to  rest  for  a  time  on  the  edge  of 
other  people's  places,  and  to  eke  out  a  living 
from  other  people's  meals." 

Miss  Lavinia,  the  youngest — botfi  were  elderly 
— was  a  pale,  shadow-like,  little  woman,  who 
seemed  so  to  have  accepted  Mr.  Hunter's  verdict  as 
to  be  in  a  general  state  of  apology  for  her  exist- 
ence, and  scarcely  to  have  ventured  to  become  a 
being  of  solid  flesh  and  blood  at  all,  but  to  be  hov- 
ering perpetually  on  the  borders  of  the  world  of 
shades.  It  would  have  seemed  quite  natural  that, 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  145 

as  with  a  melancholy  heathen  ghost,  the  faint  mur- 
mur should  have  died  at  its  birth  on  the  pale,  parted 
lips ;  and  as  it  was,  her  voice  was  always  dropping 
into  a  whisper.  Her  face  was  like  a  faded  sketch 
in  her  own  antique  water-colors ;  ringlets  of  fair, 
thin  hair,  from  which  the  gold  had  been  rubbed  off ; 
light,  mild  eyes.  Her  dress  seemed  to  partake  of 
the  same  colorless  character.  It  did  not  sweep 
and  rustle  like  other  people's.  She  glided  in  and  out 
among  the  pupils  without  displacing  or  coming  in 
contact  with  anything,  as  if  impenetrability  were 
no  property  of  the  matter  of  which  she  was  com- 
posed. 

Her  accomplishments  (for  Miss  Lavinia  undertook 
the  accomplishments)  were  what  might  have  been 
expected —  'the  shadow  of  a  shade ;'  faint  water-color 
sketches  of  a  world  evidently  below  or  beyond  the 
region  of  earthly  color  and  substance,  where  the 
"  brown  air"  was  but  feebly  varied  with  shadowy 
grays  ;  mild,  indefinite  little  tunes  on  the  worn-out 
cottage  piano,  which  furnished  the  young  ladies  of 
the  academy  with  music ;  a  French  which  was 
a  slightly  nasal  modification  of  English — echo  of 
an  echo  of  some  French  lessons  her  mother's  mother 
had  once  had  from  an  emigrant  Abbe  in  the  last 
century. 

There  had  also  been  a  shadowy  love  story  flowing 
through  a  large  portion  of  Miss  Lavinia's  life.  A 
taciturn  but  unexceptionable  young  man,  clerk  in  a 
government  office,  who  had  known  her  father  and 
formed  an  attachment  for  her  during  that  brief  space 
when  youth  touched  her  pale  features  into  a  faint 
13 


j46  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

glow  of  beauty :  and  for  thirty  years  he  had  con- 
tinued to  accompany  the  sisters  every  Sunday  to 
church,  and  to  return  with  them  to  tea,  on  which 
occasions  he  said  little  in  the  conversation,  but 
usually  concluded  by  sending  Miss  Betsy  to  sleep 
with  a  sermon,  followed  by  a  few  minutes  of  low- 
toned  conversation  with  Miss  Lavinia.  Beyond 
this  neither  the  clerk  nor  Miss  Lavinia  seemed  to 
expect  the  matter  to  proceed.  For  twenty-five 
years  there  had  been  a  widowed  mother  to  be  sup- 
ported. Then  followed  four  years  of  patient  sav- 
ing and  extra  working  for  the  future  possible  home. 
Probably  of  too  scanty  living  and  too  hard  work ; 
for  at  the  end  of  those  years  came  a  year  of  failing 
health  and  strength,  which  made  the  Sunday  visits 
difficult ;  and  an  obstinate  cough,  which  stopped  the 
reading  of  the  sermon  ;  and  at  last,  one  Sunday,  a 
note  in  a  trembling  hand  instead  of  a  visit,  full  of 
hope — but  never  followed  by  another;  and  in  a 
fortnight  an  announcement  of  a  death,  scarcely  no- 
ticed by  any  but  Miss  Betsy,  who  perplexed  herself 
all  day  how  to  break  it  to  Lavinia,  and  then  found 
at  night  that  Lavinia  had  read  it  from  the  first  in 
her  face.  And  after  this  his  will  ;  by  which  Miss 
Lavinia  Lovel  was  left  sole  executrix  and  residuary 
legatee  of  a  fortune,  which  after  paying  doctor  and 
undertaker,  left  Miss  Lavinia  a  residue  sufficient  to 
purchase  one  mourning  brooch  for  herself  and  one 
for  her  sister.  And  these,  with  an  old  well-worn 
leather  writing-desk,  formed  the  only  visible  relics 
of  an  engagement  of  thirty  years. 

The  elder  sister,  Miss  Betsy  was  a  striking  con- 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  147 

trast  to  the  younger.  Plump,  firmly  built,  with 
quick  black  eyes,  black  glossy  hair,  and  a  fixed 
bright  color,  she  was  prepared  to  do  battle  with 
the  world  both  for  her  sister's  existence  and  her 
own.  To  be  "  put  down,"  or  to  be  "  put  upon," 
were  achievements  the  most  strong-minded  person 
would  have  found  no  easy  matter  with  Miss  Betsy. 
Indeed,  perhaps  the  most  solid  and  substantial  ex- 
istence Miss  Lavinia  attained  was  in  the  central 
place  she  occupied  in  Miss  Betsy's  very  warm  and 
human  heart.  For  to  Miss  Betsy  Miss  Lavinia, 
shadow  as  she  appeared  to  others,  was  the  most 
real  and  living  being  in  the  creation.  She  had 
nursed  her  for  hours  together  in  her  infancy,  when 
scarcely  more  than  a  baby  herself.  In  girlhood  she 
had  toiled  at  mending  and  sewing,  and  even  at 
house-work,  that  Lavinia,  who  was  always  delicate, 
and  was  considered  "  talented,"  might  pursue  her 
accomplishments.  And  Miss  Lavinia's  accomplish- 
ments were  to  this  day,  now  that  they  were  elderly 
women  together,  the  pride  of  Miss  Betsy's  heart, 
and  in  her  belief  the  support  of  the  academy,  in 
which  she  never  ventured  beyond  the  "solid 
branches"  of  reading  and  writing,  arithmetic,  Pin- 
nock's  Goldsmith,  sewing  and  darning.  Outside 
the  school,  indeed,  she  admitted  that  perhaps  La- 
vinia could  not  have  done  without  her.  The  con- 
test with  impertinent  landladies  and  parents,  who 
attempted  to  'screw'  or  to  patronize  and  the  bargains 
with  acute  shopkeepers,  which  were  only  a  healthy 
excitement  to  the  brave  naval  and  marine  blood 
which  flowed  in  the  true  British  veins  of  Miss 


148  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

Betsy,  would  have  soon  altogether  driven  Miss  La- 
vinia  from  these  regions  of  conflict.  As  it  was, 
the  sound  of  dear  Betsy's  voice  in  such  conflicts, 
and  the  decisive,  military  bang  of  the  door  as  she 
returned  triumphant  from  the  glorious  tumult  of  the 
fight,  not  unfrequently  brought  Miss  Lavinia's 
"  heart  into  her  mouth,"  although  she  would  not 
have  betrayed  it  to  Miss  Betsy  for  the  world. 

To  Miss  Lavinia  Miss  Betsy  was  an  Achilles,  in 
whose  presence  everything  was  sure  to  prosper. 
To  Miss  Betsy  Miss  Lavinia  was  a  genius,  whose 
creations  it  was  her  happy  vocation  to  appreciate 
and  promote.  Thus,  happy  in  the  illusions  of  their 
life-long  love  (if  that,  indeed,  could  be  called  illu- 
sion which  love  so  truly  made  them  to  each  other), 
the  sisters  found,  in  that  life  of  endless  small  strug- 
gles to  make  the  two  ends  of  a  very  narrow  income 
meet,  which  looked  so  dreary  and  poor  to  others,  a 
life  of  endless  little  ennobling  self-denials,  and  lov- 
ing contrivances  for  each  other,  and  generous  con- 
cealments of  want  or  pain. 

And  in  that  Day,  when  prizes  are  assigned,  not 
as  with  Miss  Alicia  Hunter's  drawings,  according 
to  size,  but  according  to  perfection — from  that  Bar 
whence  this  whole  earth  shall  shrink  to  a  planetary 
point,  and  the  two  mites  count  for  a  kingdom — on 
what  a  broad  focus  of  light  will  the  deeds  of  many 
such  lives  be  projected ! 

For  there  was  one  region  in  which  Miss  Lavinia's 
life  was  neither  shadowy  nor  feeble.  Deep  in  that 
heart,  whose  earthly  pulses  beat  so  feebly,  glowed 
the  tire  of  Divine  love.  To  her,  God  was,  indeed, 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


149 


the  substance  of  all  being,  the  one  eternal,  living 
"  I  Am,"  in  whom  alone  all  the  true  living  live,  and 
move,  and  have  their  being.  To  her  Christ  was  the 
Light,  and  all  else  worth  anything  the  reflection. 
To  her,  heaven  was  the  reality  and  earth  the 
shadow;  and  faith  the  substance  of  things  hoped 
for,  the  evidence  of  things  not  seen.  In  any  conflict 
where  prayer  or  trust  in  God  were  the  weapons  to 
be  used,  the  relations  between  the  sisters  were  re- 
versed. Here  it  was  Lavinia's  tread  that  was 
steady,  and  her  grasp  that  was  firm  ;  and  the  brave 
elder  sister  leaned  on  her,  and  wondered  at  her,  and 
trusted  her  like  a  child. 

Something  of  the  same  kind  was  the  case  with 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Treherne.  In  the  shop,  Mr.  Treherne, 
with  his  small  stature,  his  dark  Celtic  face,  and  his 
hesitating  utterance,  invariably  yielded  the  palm 
to  his  stalwart  Saxon  wife,  with  her  great  hearty 
voice,  her  handsome,  ponderous  frame,  her  frank, 
animated  face,  and  her  very  decisive  opinions.  But 
in  all  matters  that  concerned  the  "  Society  " — Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Treherne  being  hereditary  Wesleyans  of 
a  century's  standing — it  was  Mr.  Treherne  who  was 
the  giant,  while  his  wife  meekly  sat  at  his  feet. 
Not  that  Caleb  Treherne  was  in  any  circumstances 
a  man  of  quick,  ready  utterance.  He  was  a  class- 
leader  ;  but  his  leading  consisted  rather  in  a  faculty 
of  drawing  others  out  to  speak  and  work  than  in 
saying  much  himself,  except,  indeed,  in  his  prayers, 
which  came  out  in  quick,  short,  detached  sentences, 
yet  were  always  eloquent  with  the  true  eloquence 
of  prayer — that  is  to  say,  they  were  prayers — words 
13* 


I  $0  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

spoken  evidently  with  the  conviction  that  God  was 
nearer,  and  more  ready  to  listen,  and  more  able  to 
understand,  and  infinitely  more  able  and  willing  to 
help,  than  man.  But  it  was  in  labors  of  love  that 
Caleb  Treherne  rose  to  his  true  spiritual  stature — 
going  after  "  backsliders "  to  public  houses ;  en- 
countering violence  with  heroic  gentleness ;  prop- 
ping up  weak  resolves  by  timely  encouragement ; 
quenching  despair  by  unquenchable  hope.  "  Hope- 
less cases  "  were  Caleb  Treherne's  chosen  field.  He 
never  gave  up  any  one ;  which  implies  that  his  cares 
were  not  confined  to  the  "  class,"  or  the  "  meeting," 
but  that  his  prayers  in  public  were,  indeed,  only  the 
feeble  overflowings  of  the  torrents  of  unutterable 
supplication  he  poured  out  in  secret  before  God. 

Caleb  and  Miss  Lavinia  were  great  allies.  Many 
a  wandering  sheep  they  had  watched  and  prayed 
over  together — she  on  the  sofa,  where  her  weak 
spine  obliged  her  to  spend  increasingly  many  hours, 
and  he  in  solitary  morning  journeys  in  his  market- 
cart,  and  in  evening  haunts  among  low  courts  and 
alleys.  Not  that  they  had  often  met.  Miss  Lavinia 
seldom  went  out  except  to  church,  and  neither  of 
the  sisters  would  have  dreamt  of  setting  foot  in  a 
meeting-house ;  but  Caleb  was  handy,  and  had  done 
many  occasional  little  services  for  the  sisters,  and 
Miss  Lavinia  had  an  especial  interest  in  the  poor, 
hard-worked,  half-starved  little  maids-of-all-work 
who  appeared  at  their  lodgings,  and  occasionally, 
after  loud  words  in  the  kitchen,  disappeared,  no  one 
but  Caleb  could  find  out  where. 

Her  attention  had  first  been  drawn  to  these  poor 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  l$l 

girls  some  years  since,  when  she  was  sitting  one 
morning,  not  long  after  her  lover's  death,  at  the 
open  window,  and  heard  the  baker's  boy  address  a 
new  maid  who  had  come  in  that  morning : 

"  Good  luck  to  you,  miss,"  he  said ;  "  I've  seen 
ten  on  'em  in  these  six  months.  They  mostly  comes 
on  Saturdays  and  leaves  on  Mondays.  They  says 
the  Missis  is  particular,  and  the  victuals  ain't  noth- 
ing particular.  But  four  on  'em  stayed ;  and  one 
on  'em  is  at  Colney  Hatch  Madhouse ;  and  one  in 
the  prison ;  and  one  was  took  up  by  the  p'lice  for 
drowning  of  herself;  and  you're  the  fifth.  I  wish 
you  good  luck,  miss."  And  the  baker's  boy  went 
up  the  steps  humming  a  jaunty  popular  air,  but 
quite  unconscious  that  he  had  dropped  a  living  seed 
of  compassion  into  Miss  Lavinia's  heart.  Thence- 
forward she  had  the  little  maids  in  on  Sunday,  and 
Bead  the  Bible  and  spoke  kindly  to  them.  Her 
Sunday  evenings  were  unoccupied  now,  she  said ; 
and  from  that  time  dated  her  friendship  with  Caleb 
Treherne. 

Both  Miss  Lavinia  and  Miss  Betsy  would  as  soon 
have  thought  of  recognizing  an  irregular  army  and 
navy,  as  an  irregular  company  of  preachers.  It 
was  very  shocking,  they  both  thought,  and  a  proof  of 
the  degeneracy  of  the  times,  that  uneducated  men 
who  could  not  pronounce  their  Vs  should  set  them- 
selves up  in  pulpits.  But  there  is  a  good  deal  of 
the  work  in  this  wilderness  of  a  world  which  can- 
not be  done  by  people  standing  in  pulpits  or  on 
platforms,  or  any  other  high  places ;  however  loud 
they  may  call,  the  wandering  sheep  do  not  always 


!52  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

come  back  for  calling,  but  have  to  be  followed  in 
quite  an  irregular  way  into  most  irregular  places, 
and  brought  back  on  the  shoulders,  or  on  the  bosom, 
or  in  any  other  way  in  which  they  can  be  got  to 
come.  And  for  such  work  Miss  Lavinia  thought 
the  services  of  quite  uneducated  people,  who  could 
not  even  pronounce  their  A's,  ought  not  to  be  de- 
clined, the  great  thing  being  to  get  it  done. 

And  Caleb  Treherne  did  it,  as  countless  volun- 
teers are  doing  it,  working  every  day  and  night  in 
ragged  schools,  and  crowded  London  alleys,  among 
Cornish  mines  or  Northern  collieries,  unknown  to 
the  Miss  Lovels,  or  indeed  to  any  of  the  "  higher 
classes,"  or  perhaps  to  any  one  except  the  wander- 
ing sheep  they  bring  back,  and  the  Good  Shepherd 
who  is  watching,  and  those  whom  the  Good  Shep- 
herd calls  to  rejoice  with  him.  Blundering,  no 
doubt,  and  stumbling,  and  sometimes  failing  and 
fainting  on  their  way,  as  most  of  us  do ;  but  still 
now  and  then  just  rescuing  some  one  poor,  lost, 
perishing  brother  for  whom  Christ  died,  and  thereby, 
we  are  told,  causing  a  new  thrill  of  joy  in  the 
presence  of  God. 

The  Miss  Lovels  had  been  Mrs.  Leigh's  first 
friends  on  her  arrival  in  the  parish,  and  now  after 
fifteen  years  of  that  continual  flow  of  emigration 
which,  as  we  are  told,  is  always  impelling  the  Indo- 
European  races  from  the  east  to  the  west,  they  were 
the  only  friends  in  her  own  position  of  life  remain- 
ing in  the  district. 

During  those  fifteen  years  there  had  been  a  steady 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  1  -  3 

decline  in  the  social  dignity  of  the  young  ladies 
who  attended  the  Miss  Lovels'  Academy. 

There  had  been  days,  Miss  Betsy  said  (she  being 
the  more  sophisticated  and  worldly  of  the  two), 
when  gentlemen  who  drove  their  gigs,  and  one  lady 
whose  father  kept  a  chariot  and  pair,  and  profes- 
sional men,  lawyers  and  doctors,  who  had  connec- 
tions in  the  army  or  navy  or  government  offices, 
and  would  on  no  account  have   "  demeaned  them- 
selves "   to   trade,  had  been  proud  to   send  their 
children  to  study  with  the   Miss  Lovels.      "  Then 
Grace,  my  dear,"  she  said,  one  day  just  before  the 
holidays,  "  we  had  something  like   examinations  ! 
The  young  ladies  repeating  their  pieces  and  playing 
their  tunes  so  prettily,  and  the  table  covered  with 
their  drawings,  screens,  and  portfolios  of  embossed 
cardboard,  and  watch-pockets,  and  painting  on  vel- 
vet, and  bunches  of  wax  flowers  as   large  as  life, 
which  the  parents  thought  it  well  worth  while  to 
put   under  glass   shades.     And  Mr.  Bellamy    (his 
brother  is  in  the  Customs,  and  he  was  a  man  of  the 
most  refined  language,  and  always   spoke  as  cor- 
rectly as  if  he  was  at  a  public  meeting),  I  remember 
his  coming  up  to  me  and  saying,  with  a  bow  fit  for 
a  court,  before  all  the  parents  and  scholars,  '  Miss 
Level,  these  paintings  by  my  granddaughter  would 
do  credit  to  the  Royal  Academy.     No  doubt,  all 
have  not  equal  talents,  but  these  productions  do 
infinite  credit,  ladies,  both  to  your  capabilities  and 
your  exertions  as  instructresses.'      And  now  the 
grocer's  wife  in  the  next  street  comes  to  me  and 
complains  that  for  what  she  pays  she  thinks  it  bare 


I  54  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

justice  that  her  daughter  should  be  able  in  a  twelve- 
month to  paint  something  fit  to  hang  up  in  their 
parlor,  and  that  the  National  schoolmistress  teaches 
more  geography  than  we  do  !  It  was  a  great  pity 
that  ever  we  took  tradespeople's  children,"  con- 
cluded Miss  Betsy,  "  and  it  is  a  great  imposition 
that  charity-children  should  be  taught  geography  at 
all.  What  chance  have  the  daughters  of  gentlemen 
if  Government  sets  up  young  women  who  ought  to 
be  thankful  to  know  how  to  sew  and  read  their 
Bibles,  to  dress  in  silks  and  velvets,  and  to  teach 
any  beggar's  brat  that  will  learn,  the  atlas  and  the 
grammar  ?  I  can't  think  what  the  world  will  come 
to ;  and  not  a  maid-of-all-work-  to  be  found  who 
knows  how  to  shake  a  feather-bed !  " 

But  Miss  Lavinia,  who  was  always  afraid  lest  in 
railing  against  the  course  of  the  world,  her  sister 
should  be  unconsciously  railing  against  Providence, 
and  who  was  also  anxious  not  to  give  gloomy  im- 
pressions of  life  to  Grace,  observed  gently : 

"I  suppose  Government  thought  a  good  deal 
about  it,  sister,  first ;  and  after  all  there's  no  going 
beyond  Providence.  It  does  seem  as  if  some  people 
got  out  of  the  stream,  and  were  left  behind  some- 
how ;  especially  women,  and  especially  when  every- 
thing goes  so  fast  as  it  does  now.  But  I  suppose 
if  one  were  only  on  the  stream,  it  would  seem  a 
very  fine  thing  to  see  it  going  so  fast.  We  must 
get  you  on  the  stream,  Grace  dear,  if  we  can,"  she 
concluded. 

"  I  suppose  the  people  on  the  stream  are  always 
seeing  new  shores,"  pursued  Grace  musing,  "  while 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  ^5 

those  who  are  left  behind  always  see  the  same 
shores,  only  new  waters  and  new  boats  always 
passing  them.  But,  please,  I  had  much  rather  not 
get  into  the  stream  and  leave  any  one  behind." 

"  There  is  a  river  which  leaves  no  one  behind, 
dear,  whether  they  will  or  no,"  said  Miss  Lavinia 
softly ;  "  and  there  is  a  River,  the  streams  whereof 
make  glad  the  city  of  God.  We  should  not  mind 
being  left  behind  by  all  the  world,  if  we  are  borne 
home  on  that  River,  Gracie." 

At  this  moment  Miss  Betsy  found  some  work 
which  required  a  good  deal  of  moving  about,  as 
she  frequently  did  when  her  sister  fell  into  that 
strain,  and  at  length,  when  Grace  left,  she  said, 
rather  impatiently,  "  Well,  Lavinia,  I  am  sure  I 
meant  no  disrespect  to  Government  or  to  Provi- 
dence ;  but  it  does  seem  to  me  as  if  things  were  in 
a  general  way  left  to  themselves.  Of  course,  they 
get  shaken  right  now  and  then  when  they  are  going 
too  far  wrong;  and  there  is  the  Deluge,  or  the 
Philistines,  or  the  captivity,  as  the  Bible  tells  us. 
But  between  times  it  does  seem  to  me  things  are 
allowed  to  go  a  good  bit  out  of  the  way.  It  may 
be  my  temptation,  but  that's  how  it  seems  to  me. 
And  I  never  shall  think  Government  can  be  justi- 
fied for  letting  those  young  women  at  the  National 
Schools  teach  geography ;  or  that  it's  a  good  thing 
for  all  the  respectable  people  in  the  parish  to  go 
and  live  miles  away  in  the  country,  leaving  the 
tradespeople  to  set  themselves  up  as  gentry,  and 
the  poor  to  sink  into  savages  or  American  republi- 
cans. And  I  always  shall  think  it  mysterious  that 


156  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

your  talents  should  be  wasted  at  this  end  of  the 
town." 

Miss  Betsy's  controversy  with  society  was,  you 
see,  extensive  and  profound ;  and  Miss  Lavinia 
having  long  given  up  both  the  hope  of  disentan- 
gling her  sister's  many  social  perplexities,  and  the 
feminine  ambition  of  having  the  last  word,  dropped 
the  subject. 

Only  as  they  read  the  Bible  together  in  the  even- 
ing, and,  as  it  happened,  came  in  their  course  to  the 
tenth  chapter  of  St.  John,  she  paused  a  moment  at 
the  words,  "  He  calleth  his  own  sheep  by  name, 
and  leadeth  them  out,"  and  said,  "  Then  there  must 
always  be  some  bewilderments  and  perplexities  to 
lead  them  out  of,  mustn't  there,  sister  ?  It  always 
bewilders  one  so  to  think  of  Government,  and 
Providence,  and  society.  And  then  it  is  such  a 
help  to  come  back  to  the  '  by  name?  and  i  one  by 
one?  That's  how  He  leads  us,  and  that's  what  I 
think  we've  got  to  do  for  one  another.  '  By  name? 
and  '  one  by  one?  And,  sister,"  she  continued,  "  I'd 
rather  you  wouldn't  say  it's  mysterious  that  I  am 
not  more  appreciated.  It  always  seems  to  me 
mysterious  I  get  on  as  well  as  I  do ;  of  course,  I 
shouldn't  if  it  weren't  for  you.  And  I  forgot  to 
tell  you  that  Caleb  Treherne  has  found  that  poor 
little  runaway  Jenny,  and  got  her  into  a  place  with 
a  good  woman  who  will  be  kind  and  look  after  her." 

That  was  Miss  Lavinia's  way  of  disentangling 
the  perplexities  of  our  social  system.  She  was  in- 
capable of  climbing  to  any  earthly  height  from 
which  she  could  command  a  prospect  of  the  field 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  i$j 

of  the  world.  But  there  are  two  points,  one  in  the 
depths  and  one  on  the  upper  heights,  from  which 
its  perplexities  are  less  perplexing  than  from  any 
intermediate  regions.  One  is  in  the  path  of  lowly 
obedience  and  only  reveals  to-day ;  and  the  other 
is  on  the  threshold  of  eternity,  and  commands  the 
ages.  And  while  the  "  love  that  is  not  puifed  up 
and  seeketh  not  her  own,"  kept  Miss  Lavinia's  steps 
to  the  one,  the  faith  which  endures  as  seeing  Him 
who  is  invisible,  frequently  bore  her  on  eagle  wings 
to  the  other. 

Miss  Lavinia  had  unconsciously  touched  on  one 
of  Grace's  greatest  difficulties,  when  she  spoke  of 
getting  her  "out  of  the  creek  into  the  stream." 
Leaving  the  Miss  Levels  behind  was  exactly  the 
thing  she  was  always  afraid  of  some  day  doing. 
It  seemed  to  her  such  a  disloyalty  not  to  think  as 
highly  of  those  water-colors,  which  were,  in  Miss 
Betsy's  eyes,  the  perfection  of  art ;  and  whose  ex- 
cellences even  Miss  Lavinia  but  mildly  disclaimed. 
Yet  after  vainly  endeavoring  to  accommodate  the 
view  of  the  world  taken  in  these  drawings  to  any- 
thing either  at  Greenwich,  in  the  Parks,  or  011 
Hampstead  Heath ;  after  looking  in  vain  for  the 
brown  foreground  tree  tapering  like  a  telescope, 
and  then  having  to  sustain  three  gigantic  tufts  of 
brown  vegetation,  which  had  apparently  crushed 
its  trunk  into  a  helpless  curvature  of  the  spine ; 
and  for  the  round  gray  woolly  balls  on  the  wood- 
land distance,  or  the  similar  white  gray  woolly  balls 
in  the  sky,  Grace  had  taken  refuge  in  a  theory  that 
there  must  be  fashions  in  painting  as  in  other  things, 
14 


158  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

and  concluded  that  Miss  Lavinia's  paintings  were  as 
much  beyond  criticism  and  impertinent  comparison 
with  nature  as  the  sculptures  of  Egypt  or  of  Nine- 
veh. Meanwhile,  inasmuch  as  the  fashions  did  not 
change  in  natural  things,  and  the  crimson-tipped 
daisy  was  evidently  clothed  in  the  same  garb  as 
the  one  beneath  Burns'  plough ;  and  the  primroses 
had  not  grown  paler  nor  the  grass  greener  since 
Shakspeare's  time  ;  and  the  "  lilies  of  the  field  "  (if, 
as  her  father  thought,  they  meant  the  scarlet  poppy 
or  anemone)  had  kept  their  first  glory  longer  still ; 
and  since,  moreover,  Grace  could  command  mosses 
and  flowers  and  vegetables  in  brown  baskets  to 
copy;  and  could  not  command  woods  and  lakes 
and  mountains,  she  thought  it  safer,  and  certainly 
pleasanter,  to  abandon  the  lofty  regions  of  land- 
scape in  which  Miss  Lavinia  and  her  cousin  Alicia 
Hunter  disported  themselves,  and  to  hover  quietly 
like  a  honey  bee  over  the  mosses  and  grasses  and 
sweet  lowly  blossoms. 

She  had  also  vainly  struggled  against  the  convic- 
tion that  she  learned  more  geography  from  the 
maps  at  the  National  School  than  from  the  "  geo- 
graphy book."  And  besides  the  uncomfortable 
suspicion*  which  she  had  mentioned  to  Winifred, 
as  to  whether  the  Miss  Lavinia's  French  would  be 
quite  understood  in  France,  the  organist,  on  the 
day  of  the  last  recorded  conversation  with  the 
Miss  Lovels,  gave  a  ruthless  blow  to  her  musical 
acquirements,  when,  at  her  father's  request,  she 
had  played  him  the  most  elaborate  of  Miss  La- 


THE  WORIJ)  SHE  LIVED  IN.  159 

vinia's  quadrilles,  by  declaring  that  she  must  begin 
at  the  beginning,  and  practice  scales  and  exercises, 
and  then  he  had  no  doubt  he  could  make  something 
of  her.  Poor  little  Grace  could  have  cried,  not  at 
her  own  failure,  but  at  the  thought  how  vexed  Miss 
Lavinia  would  be  if  she  were  to  hear  it ;  for  Miss 
Lavinia  had  pronounced  that  she  could  teach  her 
no  more,  an  announcement  which  had  exalted  Grace 
into  a  prodigy  in  the  estimation  of  all  the  other 
young  ladies,  and  especially  of  Miss  Betsy.  It 
was  terrible  to  the  tender-hearted  loyal  child  to 
feel  the  world,  and  even  herself,  do  what  she  could 
to  hide  it,  thus  leaving  her  mother's  old  kind  friends 
behind.  Thus  it  happened  that  her  compassionate 
reverent  thoughts,  with  the  recollection  of  Miss 
Lavinia's  words,  embodied  themselves  that  night 
in  a  dream.  She  seemed  to  be  stranded  in  a  reedy 
creek,  with  her  father  and  the  Miss  Lovels  in  four 
little  boats,  while  all  the  world  •  was  rowing  and 
sailing  or  steaming  merrily  past  them  in  gay  barges 
and  steamers  ;  national  schoolmistresses  in  brilliant 
ribbons,  and  the  "  young  ladies  "  of  the  academy 
itself  with  their  parents,  in  the  most  fashionable 
shawls  and  bonnets,  and  Cousin  Alicia  with  a  paint- 
ing as  large  as  those  in  the  Houses  of  Parliament, 
and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hunter  serenely  contemplating 
it.  All  this  would  not  have  distressed 'Grace  in  the 
least,  for  she  would  have  been  happier  with  her 
friends  in  the  creek,  than  with  all  the  rest  of  the 
world  on  the  broad  stream,  had  it  not  been  for  an 
uneasy  feeling  that  they  had  all  to  go  somewhere, 
and  ought  to  be  getting  on ;  and  for  the  scornful, 


160  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

t 

or  reproachful,  or  compassionate  gestures  of  the 
people  who  were  getting  on  in  the  steamers  and 
barges.  But  worse  than  all,  it  happened  that 
Grace's  own  boat  was  on  the  outer  edge  of  the 
creek  and  all  but  in  the  current,  and  friendly  but 
mistaken  people  every  now  and  then  would  give 
her  a  helping  hand,  so  that  she  was  in  continual 
dread  of  being  swept  away  with  the  crowd.  At 
last  the  dreaded  moment  came ;  Winifred  Bertram 
came  floating  by,  and  with  a  little  laughing  touch 
actually  set  Grace's  boat  drifting  down  the  stream. 
Then  just  as  she  had  dropped  her  oars,  and  was 
crying  bitterly  as  she  lost  sight  of  the  old  familiar 
shores,  she  heard  her  father's  voice  saying,  "  Never 
mind,  Grace,  look  up,  it  will  be  all  right  at  last ;" 
and  rising  in  the  boat  to  look,  she  suddenly  caught, 
through  the  reedy  jungle  on  the  banks,  a  glimpse 
of  another  river  flowing  from  the  further  end  of 
the  creek  where  they  had  been  stranded.  As  she 
looked  longer,  she  saw  that  it  was  not  a  river,  but 
an  arm  of  the  great  sea  beyond,  and  the  waves 
came  slowly  sweeping  up,  till  they  flooded  its  banks, 
and  filled  the  creek  to  the  brim,  and  floated  the 
stranded  boats.  And  when  the  ebb  came,  she  saw 
them  borne  along  the  golden  tide  to  the  golden  sea 
beyond,  which  was  clear  as  crystal,  yet  glowing 
through  and  through  as  if  with  fire.  And  she  saw 
that  from  that  forgotten  creek  and  the  boats  stranded 
there  out  of  the  way  of  the  world,  there  was  a  way 
to  the  Crystal  Sea  and  the  Golden  City,  more  direct 
even  than  by  the  great  stream.  And  Grace  awoke, 
and  thought  a  long  time  over  her  dream,  and  was 
comforted. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  j6i 

For  the  Miss  Levels  were  not  the  only  people 
she  knew  whom  the  busy  eager  world  had  left 
behind,  or  was  leaving  behind,  on  that  forsaken 
strand  of  the  east  of  London.  There  was  a  laun- 
dress whose  customers  had  migrated  westward, 
and  who  was  too  old  to  follow,  and  who  had  long 
stories  of  the  good  old  families  she  had  washed  for 
in  the  good  old  times.  There  was  a  poor  widow 
whose  mother  had  made  a  decent  living  by  needle- 
work, who  was  now  engaged  in  a  hopeless  struggle 
with  the  "  sewing  machines,"  and  had  the  greatest 
difficulty  in  eking  out  bread  for  her  little  ones  from 
the  workhouse  allowance,  and  making  shirts  at  a 
penny  three-farthings  each,  with  the  thread  to  buy. 
And  to  these,  and  to  many  others,  the  progress  of 
society  seemed  the  progress  of  a  Juggernaut,  out 
of  whose  way  they  had  no  strength  to  struggle. 

And  with  regard  to  all  these  it  was  a  great  com- 
fort to  think  there  was  a  way  still  open  to  the  sea 
of  glass  and  the  songs  of  triumph  and  the  city  of 
God,  even  for  those  who  have  been  baffled  and 
stranded  on  this  stream  of  time. 

But,  perhaps,  the  friend  closest  of  all  to  Grace's 
heart  was  Mrs.  Anderson,  the  baker's  wife,  who 
lived  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street.  For  Mrs. 
Anderson  had  nursed  Mrs.  Leigh  with  the  tender- 
ness of  a  mother  and  the  reverence  of  an  old  ser- 
vant, and  there  was  a  natural  courtesy  and  dignity 
about  her  which  prevented  her  ever  wounding  Mr. 
Leigh's  or  Grace's  feelings  by  the  unconscious 
patronage  which  sometimes  tasked  Grace's  humil- 
ity to  the  utmost  with  Mrs.  Treherne.  Mrs.  Tre- 
14* 


l6z  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

herne  looked  on  Mr.  Leigh  and  Grace,  not  to 
mention  her  own  children  and  her  husband  and  the 
Miss  Levels  as  a  kind  of  "  feeble  folk "  whom  it 
was  her  "  mission "  to  direct  and  take  care  of,  if 
they  were  submissive,  with  gentleness  ;  if  not,  with 
decision,  for  their  good,  whether  they  liked  it  or  not. 

But  Mrs.  Anderson  had  too  strong  an  individ- 
uality of  her  own  not  to  respect  other  people's. 
Besides  she  had  not  the  Saxon  aggressiveness  of 
Mrs.  Treherne,  which  does  not  improve  the  man- 
ners ;  but  rather  a  Celtic  or  Oriental  passiveness, 
when  it  was  not  a  question  of  right  or  wrong, 
which  gives  a  high-toned  mixture  of  repose  and 
deference  to  the  manner,  worthy  of  the  best  society. 
To  Mrs.  Treherne  a  difference  of  opinion  was  a 
thing  which  brought  her  out  of  her  shell  to  contend 
and  conquer,  and  perhaps  at  some  occasions  to  be 
conquered.  With  Mrs.  Anderson  a  difference  of 
opinion  sent  her  back  into  her  shell  to  endure  and 
to  defend,  and  perhaps  to  be  silenced,  but  never  to 
be  conquered. 

Moreover,  Mrs.  Anderson  came  from  a  fallen 
ancestry,  and  a  race  that  had  known  better  days. 
She  had  married  a  Lowlander,  of  whose  "  English  " 
as  of  his  pedigree  she  thought  little ;  but  her 
grandfather  had  been  a  Highland  farmer  in  Suther- 
landshire,  and  her  own  childhood  had  been  spent 
in  one  of  the  fishing  villages  on  the  coast,  into 
which  the  inland  peasantry  were  crowded  when 
their  houses  were  unroofed  and  their  glens  were 
depopulated  to  make  way  for  the  gigantic  sheep- 
farms. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  ^3 

Many  a  tale  of  wrong  and  ruin  Mrs.  Anderson 
told  Grace  as  she  initiated  her  into  the  mysteries 
of  heels  and  toes  of  stocking-knitting.  The  old 
histories  dropped  from  her  lips  in  quiet  cadences 
of  voice,  falling  monotonously  like  a  Gregorian 
chant ;  with  as  little  comment  on  the  right  or 
wrong,  and  as  few  tempests  of  indignation  as  in 
the  old  Scriptural  narratives,  but  with  that  irresisti- 
ble pathos  of  unexaggerated  facts,  which  burns 
into  the  heart  more  than  the  most  vehement  denun- 
ciations. Deep  into  Grace's  heart  sank  the  story 
of  those  old  wasted  homes.  She  saw  the  deep 
glens  among  the  hills,  each  with  its  own  cluster  of 
farms  and  cottages,  the  inhabitants  for  the  most 
part  very  poor,  and  earning  a  precarious  livelihood 
in  that  uncertain  climate,  but  loving  their  homes 
and  their  burial  places  with  the  tenacity  of  affec- 
tion peculiar  to  a  race  much  of  whose  life  is  in  the 
past  rather  than  in  the  future.  She  followed  them 
in  their  Sabbath  gatherings  from  many  a  scattered 
glen  to  the  church  where  their  forefathers  had 
prayed,  and  around  which  they  had  been  laid  to 
rest  for  generations,  and  she  seemed  to  have  heard 
the  solemn  singing  of  their  grand  old  hymns  when 
they  met  from  far  and  wide  on  the  hillside  for  a 
Sacrament.  Grand  old  hymns  they  were.  Mrs. 
Anderson  said  there  were  none  like  them.  Some 
of  them  had  been  brought  in  old  days  from  the 
Continent,  where  one  of  the  chiefs  had  led  many 
of  his  clansmen  to  fight  for  Gustavus  Adolphus  in 
the  great  Protestant  conflict  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  More  than  one  of  Mrs.  Anderson's  family 


164  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND. 

bore  the  name  of  the  Swedish  hero ;  and  some  of 
Grace's  most  vivid  glimpses  of  history  were  those 
which  came  to  her  through  these  old  Highland 
traditions  of  the  Thirty  Years'  War.  Homer,  and 
Shakespeare,  and  Mrs.  Anderson  were  indeed  her 
chief  historical  authorities,  and  the  Iliad  with  its 
brave  tender-hearted  dying  hero  seemed  to  her 
strangely  to  spring  forth  again  in  the  Christian 
king  who. never  spared  himself,  and  died  on  the 
victorious  field ;  and  again  in  those  poor,  brave, 
patient  Highlanders,  whose  houses  were  unroofed, 
and  their  women  cast  homeless  on  the  world,  while 
they  were  far  away  victoriously  fighting  the  battles 
of  the  nation.  Many  a  time  she  cried  heartily  as 
she  thought  of  the  poor  families  leaving  the  un- 
roofed houses  of  their  fathers,  the  poor  household 
furniture  which  had  made  the  old  home  so  home- 
like, looking  so  forlorn  as  it  was  stowed  away  in 
the  farm  cart ;  and  the  cattle  which  had  been  such 
familiar  friends  in  the  simple  country  life,  sold 
away  as  if  they  were  mere  chattels  ;  and  they  them- 
selves huddled  into  wretched  crowded  villages  on 
the  coast,  where  those  who  still  clung  to  the  old 
country  were  left  to  struggle  with  starvation  year 
after,  while  the  sheep  were  grazing  in  their  deso- 
lated glens,  delighting  in  the  greener  patches  which 
marked  where  the  ruined  homesteads  had  been. 

Many  a  time  little  Grace  listened  to  the  quietly 
told  tale  of  bitter  wrongs,  in  speechless  indigna- 
tion; but  when  she  spoke,  Mrs.  Andeison  gave 
but  a  faint  response.  At  least,  so  Grace  used  to 
think  at  first.  Afterwards  she  learned  that  such 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  165 

wrongs  are  not  alleviated  by  words.  They  must 
either  be  avenged,  or  endured.  There  were  only 
two  alternatives ;  and  the  i  Sutherlandshire  High- 
landers had  chosen  the  latter. 

Once,  indeed,  Grace,  fresh  from  the  Odyssey,  had 
come  primed  with  consolations  for  the  wrongs  of 
her  friend's  kindred. 

She  gave  her  the  history  of  the  Iliad,  the  death 
of  Hector,  and  the  lamentings  of  the  Trojan  wo- 
men. Mrs.  Anderson  considered  it  must  have  been 
like  an  old  Highland  funeral. 

"  But,  Mrs.  Anderson,"  Grace  continued,  "  there 
was  another  history  to  follow.  Scarcely  one  of 
those  old  heroes  reached  their  homes  in  safety,  and 
none  without  years  of  sorrowful  wanderings.  So 
you  see  the  gods  did  avenge  after  all." 

"  That  may  be,  Miss  Grace,"  said  Mrs.  Ander- 
son; "but  you  see  they  were  but  heathen  gods 
after  all,  and  had  nothing  but  this  world,  poor 
things,  to  look  to.  So  the  stories  had  to  be  fin- 
ished off  on  earth.  But  we  have  got  the  Bible, 
and  for  the  most  part  you'll  see  the  Bible  stories  do 
not  not  get  finished  in  this  world  at  all  Nor,  I 
think,  do  ours." 

"But,"  said  Grace,  "to  burn  the  house  down 
about  the  poor  old  mother,  while  the  sons  were 
fighting  the  battles  of  the  country  !  Surely  there 
are  some  things  God  punishes  even  here." 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Anderson,  "  Til  not  say  that 
I've  not  heard  very  dark  stories  of  the  way  the 
factors  who  did  that  work  came  to  their  end.  And 
one  thing,  I  know,"  she  continued,  with  a 'quiet 


166  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

irony,  "they  may  search  the  hills  far  and  wide 
before  they'll  fill  up  the  Highland  regiments  now. 
'Will  you  not  fight  for  the  country?'  said  the 
recruiting  sergeants,  and  the  men  gave  answer, 
'  We've  no  country  to  fight  for.'  They  may  hunt 
the  deer  on  the  mountains,  and  count  their  sheep 
by  thousands  in  the  glens,  but  when  they  want 
something  else  than  sheep  and  deer  to  fight  their 
battles,  the  men  are  away,  hunted  out  of  hearing, 
over  the  hills  and  over  the  seas,  and  they'll  find 
them  hard  to  reach." 

"  But,"  said  Grace,  struggling  hard  for  a  visible 
solution  of  the  problem  which  weighed  on  her 
heart,  "  you  say  the  people  have  better  homes  in 
the  new  country  than  in  the  old ;  and,  perhaps,  God 
meant  the  new  countries  to  have  people  living  in 
them,  and  made  the  cruel  people  bring  about  good 
in  that  way.  You  know,  Mrs.  Anderson,  there  was 
Joseph  ;  he  was  even  sold  for  a  slave,  yet  God  did 
make  it  end  well." 

"  The  Lord  forbid  I  should  say  it's  not  all  well, 
Miss  Grace ;  but  it's  not  for  me  to  be  peepirg  and 
prying  into  His  reasons.  How  would  I  know  I'd 
not  put  down  the  wrong  reason  after  all,  and  so 
been  blaspheming  him  ?  No  doubt,  the  Lord  or- 
dains all  things,  and,  no  doubt,  all  that  He  ordains 
is  right.  No  doubt  we  are  but  the  clay  in  the 
hand  of  the  potter,  and  shall  the  thing  formed  say 
to  Him  that  formed  it,  What  doest  Thou  ?  The 
world  was  not  created  for  us,  Miss  Grace,  nor 
we  for  ourselves,  but  for  the  Lord." 

Grace  was  awed  and  silenced,  and  refrained  from 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  ^7 

further  consolation.  As  she  looked  at  Mrs.  Ander- 
son's grave,  worn,  earnest  face,  and  heard  the  deep 
reverent  tone  in  which  she  spoke,  she  felt  there  was 
a  majesty  in  such  unconditional  submission  beside 
which  all  her  struggles  to  find  out  reasons  seemed 
the  restless  frettings  of  a  baby. 

"  But,  Mrs.  Anderson,"  she  ventured  to  say  at 
length,  "  God  does  care  for  us,  does  n't  He,  even  in 
the  little  things  by  the  way  as  well  as  in  the  great 
things  at  the  end?  Even  for  the  sparrows,  you 
know,  he  cares,  our  Lord  said." 

"  Cares  for  us  !  Miss  Grace,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  An- 
derson, her  clear  gray  eye  for  a  moment  kindling, 
and  then  vailing  its  fire  in  tears.  "  I  should  just 
think  he  does  !  As  he  cares  for  the  sparrows  ?  No  ! 
as  a  father  pities  his  children,  his  babes  !  Cares  for 
us  ?  Why,  he  died  for  us,  my  poor  lamb.  He  died 
on  the  cross  for  us.  Cares  for  us  ?  No  wonder  ! 
And  more  than  that.  He  redeemed  us  by  his  blood, 
He  saved  us,  paid  the  whole  ransom  and  set  us  free ; 
took  the  whole  burden,  'and  will  bring  us  the  whole 
way  through  to  share  the  whole  glory.  The  Lord 
does  no  half  works,  Miss  Grace,  and  gives  no  half- 
gifts,  and  forgives  with  no  half-forgiveness.  He 
forgives  and  forgets  (he  says  it),  and  washes  us 
white  as  snow,  and  never  leaves  nor  forsakes  his 
people  till  he  gets  the  poor  ragged  prodigal  to  his 
Father's  heart,  and  the  poor  cripple  beggar  on  the 
king's  throne." 

Mrs.  Anderson  was  a  firm  adherent  of  the  old 
Covenanting  theology,  and  thought  rather  little  of 
the  orthodoxy  of  the  Independent  Chapel  which  her 


168  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

husband  sometimes  attended,  as  the  nearest  approach 
to  Presbyterianism  within  reach  on  wet  evenings. 

Many  a  battle  she  had  with  Mrs.  Treherne  for  her 
Calvinism ;  but  Caleb,  orthodox  Wesleyan  that  he 
was,  felt  no  uneasiness  about  it.  "  For,"  said  Caleb, 
"  Mrs.  Anderson  believes  that  every  thing  good  be- 
gins, and  goes  through,  and  ends  with  the  Lord,  and 
so  did  John  Wesley ;  and  as  to  what  happened  be- 
fore the  beginning,  it's  my  belief,  neither  Mrs.  An- 
derson nor  I,  nor  John  Wesley  himself  could  tell. 
And  she  believes  that  it's  a  real  fight  we're  in  with 
the  devil,  not  a  got-up  fight  arranged  beforehand 
like  a  puppet-show  ;  and  that  if  we  pray,  the  Lord 
hears  and  does  help  us  and  others  too ;  and  if  we 
go  after  the  lost  sheep,  he  does  really  help  us  to 
bring  them  back  when  they  were  going  further  and 
further  away.  And  she  believes  it's  no  painted  fight, 
and  no  painted  devil,  and  no  painted  Saviour,  but 
a  real  fight  to  be  lost  or  won,  and  a  real  devil,  and 
a  real  Saviour ;  not  a  helper  only,  but  the  Saviour. 
Mrs.  Anderson's  a  real  good  woman,  and  has  be- 
haved like  a  mother  to  that  poor  little  straying 
maid  I  found  out  for  Miss  Lovel.  And  if  she's  got 
some  twists ;  why  so  have  most  of  us,  and  so  I  ex- 
pect we  shall  until  we  get  put  straight  in  the  other 
world."  For  Caleb  was  not  metaphysical ;  and  he 
was  well  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Anderson,  who, 
besides  this  history  of  her  kindred,  had  an  especial 
history  of  her  own,  which  Grace  did  not  learn  till 
afterwards.  Mrs.  Anderson,  on  her  part,  thought 
Caleb  very  "  sound  for  an  Englishman." 

Little  Grace  was  not  ignorant  of  these  theologi- 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  169 

it 

cal  discussions  ;  and  although  once  when  she  ques- 
tioned Mr.  Leigh  about  them,  he  said  these  were 
things  quite  beyond  a  little  girl's  comprehension, 
she  could  not  help  pondering  them  in  her  mind, 
until  at  last  she  found  her  way  to  the  great  foun- 
dation question  of  the  origin  of  evil.  For  a  very 
short  flight  brings  us  to  the  bars  of  our  cage,  and 
little  children  climb  very  soon  to  the  bottom  of 
difficulties  which  no  philosopher  can  scale. 

M  It  is  very  difficult,"  she  thought,  "  and  yet  if  we 
were  to  be  people  at  all,  and  not  things  to  be  moved 
about,  it  does  seem  as  if  it  could  not  be  helped  that 
we  might  go  wrong  if  we  would." 

So,  Grace  having  beaten  her  wings  a  little  while 
against  the  bars,  wisely  turned  from  them  altogether 
and  soared  upward,  there  being  no  bars  to  hinder 
the  flight  of  the  mind  or  heart  in  that  direction  ; 
the  temple  of  the  world,  like  the  ancient  temples, 
being  always  open  to  the  sky.  She  took  refuge  in 
God  himself.  "  For  thou,  O  God,"  she  thought, 
"  art  love."  And  then  when  her  thoughts  came 
down  to  earth  again,  she  found  there  the  stem  of 
the  Cross,  at  the  foot  of  which  she  could  rest  as 
peacefully  as  in  the  heights  above  the  clouds.  For 
there  also,  in  a  cry  of  anguish,  and  in  crimson  stains 
she  could,  read  as  clearly  as  in  characters  of  light, 
and  in  songs  of  joy  above,  "  Thou  art  love." 

But  Mrs.  Anderson  had  a  personal  history  of  her 
own  quite  independent  of  the  history  of  her  people ; 
and  it  was  this  which,  as  it  came  pouring  out  one 
day  in  an  hour  of  rare  confidence,  drew  Grace's 
heart  to  her  so  closely  forever. 
15 


I7o  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

"  I  was  not  always  a  childless  old  woman,  Miss 
Grace,,  as  I  am  now.  I  came  to  London  as  rich  as 
Hannah  when  the  Lord  had  heard  her  prayer.  Not 
that  I  had  seven  bairns ;  but  my  two  were  as  much 
to  me  as  seven.  One  was  a  bonny  lad,  as  full  of 
spirit  as  Master  Harry  ;  and  one  was  a  lassie  with 
fair  hair  like  yourself.  Maybe  that's  why  I  think  so 
much  of  you.  I  had  known  pretty  much  what  it  is 
to  be  poor,  and  I  set  myself  to  work,  heart  and  soul, 
that  Alick  and  Maggie  might  never  taste  a  bitter 
drop  out  of  that  cup.  I  saved  and  toiled,  and  I 
stinted  and  I  spared  ;  and  I  grudged  many  a  time 
to  see  how  hungry  my  goodman  was.  I  thought  it 
was  all  duty  and  love.  But  the  Lord  knew  better, 
Miss  Grace,  and  a  sore  controversy  He  had  with  me. 
It's  a  long  story;  but  I'll  make  it  short.  First,  He 
laid  his  hand  on  the  worldly  goods.  We  were  set- 
tled in  Glasgow,  and  had  a  pretty  business,  when  a 
new-fashioned  man  came  with  advertisements  and 
new-fangled  devices,  and  embellishments,  and  un- 
dersold us,  and  beguiled  away  our  customers.  He 
was  ruined  himself  afterwards,  poor  foolish  man : 
but  little  comfort  was  there  in  that.  Then  we  came 
to  London.  And  a  very  mysterious  dispensation  I 
thought  it,  Miss  Grace,  that  the  Lord  should  prosper 
an  upstart  like  that,  and  let  diligent,  honest,  old- 
established  people,  like  James  Anderson  and  me,  be 
banished  from  the  country.  Many  a  time  we 
tangle  our  threads  and  let  down  our  stitches,  Miss 
Grace,  and  then  talk  of  the  Lord's  mysterious  dis- 
pensations !  But  that's  neither  here  nor  there. 
Well,  we  prospered  well  in  London.  And  then  I 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


171 


thought  the  Lord,  as  it  were,  had  found  out  what 
we  were  at  last,  and  was  giving  us  our  reward. 
And  the  foolish  man  in  Glasgow  failed,  which 
proved,  I  said  to  James  Anderson,  that  there  is  a 
Providence  that  orders  all.  I  thought  it  the  most 
fitting  thing  in  the  world,  Miss  Grace,  that  all  the 
good  things  should  drop  into  our  hands,  such  sober, 
frugal  people  as  we  were.  If  James  Anderson  had 
been  made  Lord  Mayor,  I  believe  I  should  have 
thought  it  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world,  and 
have  thanked  the  Almighty  for  doing  the  right 
thing,  and  never  have  had  a  thought  I  was  like  the 
Pharisee  in  the  parable.  I  thought  I  was  as  humble 
as  the  publican,  for  I  was  never  one  that  made  a 
loud  profession  of  religion.  We  always  put  our 
mite  into  the  '  ladle'  when  the  deacon  came  round. 
Our  *  mite,'  I  called  it,  for  what  indeed  had  I  to 
spare  more  than  the  poor  widow  (I  thought),  with 
Alick  and  Maggie  to  provide  for,  and  Alick  to  make 
a  minister  of,  if  the  Lord  gave  him  the  call.  So  I 
spared  more  and  more,  and  grudged  more  and -more, 
and  despised  the  poor  people  who  were  so  foolish 
as  not  to  get  on  in  the  world,  and  had  never  a 
thought  all  the  time  that  I  was  coiling  a  serpent 
close  around  my  heart.  But  the  Lord  knew ;  and 
He  visited  me  again.  This  time  He  laid  his  hand 
not  on  the  goods  but  on  the  bairn.  Alick  took  the 
fever,  and  spite  of  all  I  could  do,  and  all  the  doctors 
could  do ;  for  the  one  idol  broke  the  other  as  it 
fell,  Miss  Grace,  and  I  spared  neither  silver  nor  gold 
— the  laddie  died. 

"  And  then  all  the  rebellion  broke  out  in  my  heart 


172  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

again.  I  did  not  say  a  murmuring  word.  But  my 
whole  life  was  one  long  murmur  from  morning  to 
night.  My  prayers  were  murmurs ;  my  thanksgiv- 
ings were  murmurs ;  for  I  thanked  the  Almighty, 
or  I  tried  to  thank  him,  that  I  was  not  as  the  poor, 
careless  wretches  around  me.  They  never  prayed, 
I  said,  and  their  bairns  were  not  smitten  !  It  was 
not  for  me,  who  was  honored  by  His  chastening,  to 
wish  myself  as  they,  going  as  they  were  going  on 
the  broad  road  to  destruction.  At  least  that  was 
the  bitter  comfort  I  tried  to  find  out  of  my  anguish, 
when  I  heard  the  little  ones  laugh  and  gambol,  and 
would  have  given  all  I  had  in  the  world  for  one 
clasp  of  the  little  arms  that  were  cold.  At  first  I 
told  you  my  idol  was  broke  by  the  fall  of  the  other. 
But  the  beautiful  idol  was  gone  from  my  sight,  and 
the  hideous,  monstrous  thing,  set  itself  up  again 
stronger  than  ever. 

"  I  would  make  our  Maggie  a  lady,  I  thought. 
Easy  enough  to  do,  I  thought,  and  she  so  fair  and 
gentle,  with  such  winning  ways  of  her  own ;  no 
days  of  want  should  come  near  her !  I  would  send 
her  to  the  Miss  Levels  with  you,  Miss  Grace,  I 
thought ;  and  she  should  be  fit  to  take  her  part  with 
the  best  in  the  country.  So  the  old  serpent  crept 
in  again.  And  I  spared,  and  saved,  and  stinted,  and 
counted  the  gains  that  were,4  and  the  gains  that 
should  be,  and  had  never  a  penny  to  give  beyond 
the  l  mite '  I  could  give  without  feeling  it.  And  all, 
I  thought,  for  Maggie,  and  for  love  and  duty !  Was 
not  he  that  did  not  provide  for  his  own  house  worse 
than  an  infidel  ? 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  173 

"  The  Almighty  did  not  leave  me  without  many 
a  warning  from  his  own  word.  Most  times  I  was 
clever  enough  to  turn  the  edge  of  his  messages 
straight  off  on  my  neighbors.  But  one  word  cut 
me  sharp  for  the  time. 

"  It  was  the  New  Year's  Day  after  Alick  was 
taken,  and  I  was  straying  along  with  no  heart  for 
church  or  home,  when  I  passed  a  church  well  lighted 
for  service,  and  filled  with  many  poor,  humble- 
looking  people;  and  something  made  me  go  in. 
The  minister  was  half  through  his  sermon,  and  I 
never  knew  the  text,  but  his  words  were  very 
searching,  and  they  searched  me — or,  I  should  say, 
the  Lord  searched  me  with  them.  He  said  New 
Year's  Days  are  questioning  days.  The  Lord  was 
catechizing  us  all,  as  it  were.  We  were  taking 
stock,  he  said  of  our  goods ;  but  our  goods,  as  it 
were,  were  also  taking  stock  of  us.  We  asked  what 
we  had  made  of  them.  God  was  asking  what  they 
had  made  of  us.  Now,  whatever  the  last  year  had 
been,  he  said  it  had  been  one  of  conflict.  Whether 
we  knew  it  or  not,  he  was  sure  of  that.  On  which- 
ever side  we  were,  there  had  been  a  battle  going  on 
for  us  and  within  us  between  the  Saviour  and  the 
Devil.  He  went  on  to  say — and  that  was  what  cut 
me — that  the  Devil  had  sometimes  no  objection  to 
help  us  even  against  our  sins.  He  drove  out  the 
sins  of  youth  by  the  sins  of  age.  He  drove  out  the 
lust  of  the  flesh  by  the  lust  of  the  eye,  and  the  lust 
of  the  eye  by  the  pride  of  life ;  and  the  warm, 
quick  sins  of  youth,  by  the  cold,  slow  sins  of  age. 
But  all  the  Devil's  driving  out,  he  said,  was  reallr 
15* 


I74  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND  . 

only  driving  in.  '  You,'  he  said,  looking  at  me  (I 
thought), '  who  think  you  are  above  caring  for  show, 
and  pleasure  and  folly,  take  care  you  have  not  ex- 
changed all  these  idols  for  a  worse  than  all — the 
service  of  Mammon,  the  love  of  money.  Not  caring 
for  outward  shows,  but  caring  infinitely  for  what 
will  give  you  the  power  to  purchase  these  if  you 
liked ;  you  who  scorn  the  pride  and  gewgaws  of 
youth,  take  care  you  are  not  priding  yourselves  on 
being  above  pride.  Take  care  you  are  not  taking 
your  idols  from  the  court  of  the  Temple  to  the  Holy 
Place.  Take  care  you  are  not  driving  your  enemies 
from  the  field  into  the  citadel.  Take  care  whether 
you  are  driving  your  sins  out  or  in.J 

"  Those  w^ords  haunted  me  long.  It  was  Mr. 
Bertram  who  was  preaching  ;  and  often  and  often 
the  question  came  back — Out  or  in?  Are  you 
driving  your  sins  out  or  in  ? 

"  However,  I  got  the  better  of  that  controversy, 
and  persuaded  myself  that  it  was  no  love  of  money, 
but  the  love  of  Maggie,  which  made  me  grudge, 
stint,  and  save.  Was  n't  she  God's  gift  to  us  ? 
And  besides  the  natural  love  in  my  heart,  had  I  not 
the  Lord's  own  command  to  care  for  the  lassie  ?  So 
the  serpent  coiled  tighter  and  tighter,  and  I  nour- 
ished it  in  my  bosom,  and  called  it  a  heavenly 
grace.  But  the  Lord  knew  better,  Miss  Grace. 
And  he  smote  me  again  ;  and  this  time  the  stroke 
came  home. 

"  He  took  my  Maggie,  my  poor,  own,  only  bairn. 
He  smote  the  lassie,  and  she  died.  And  then  I  sat 
seven  days  by  the  dead  child,  with  the  chests  stored 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  .175 

with  fine  linen  for  her  wedding,  and  she  that  would 
never  need  but  that  one  white  shroud  in  which  she 
lay  stretched  before  me !  I  did  not  make  much 
moaning ;  where  was  the  use  ?  Nor  did  I  make 
much  prayer.  The  Pharisee's  prayers  die  on  the 
lips  when  the  anguish  is  great  as  mine.  I  could  not 
stand  up  against  the  rod  and  thank  God  he  had 
stricken  me  now,  and  that  I  was  not  like  other  men. 
A  poor,  abject,  bruised,  earthly-hearted,  childless 
woman,  that  would  have  gone  on  my  knees  to  be 
allowed  to  be  like  even  the  poorest  beggar  I  despised, 
only  to  have  niy  Maggie  again.  I  was  down,  Miss 
Grace,  down!  And  there  were  the  profits  that 
Christmas,  like  a  little  fortune !  We  might  have 
sent  the  bairn  to  the  first  school  in  the  land — and 
there  she  lay  in  her  little  four  feet  of  grave.  I 
sought  no  comfort.  I  hoped  for  none.  I  had  no 
controversy  with  the  Lord.  I  had  felt  his  hand. 
But  I  crouched  under  it  like  a  poor,  smitten,  abject 
hound,  with  all  the  human  heart  beaten  out  of  me. 
But  that  was  not  what  the  Lord  meant,  Miss  Grace. 
That  was  not  what  he  meant ! 

"  That  New  Year's  Day  I  strayed  in  again,  my 
goodman  and  I,  into  Mr.  Bertram's  Church.  He 
had  another  question  that  night ;  it  was,  '  Upward 
or  Downward.'  He  said  (or  that  was  what  I  mind 
his  saying),  every  sorrow  was  like  a  landing-place 
on  the  great  winding  stair  of  life.  Two  ways  led 
from  it — up  and  down  ;  and  two  Spirits  stood  there, 
the  spirit  of  evil  and  the  Spirit  of  God ;  and  one 
tried  to  lead  us  downwards  and  the  other  upwards. 
And  downwards  or  upwards  we  must  go ;  for  the 


I76  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

ground  was  slippery,  and  no  one  could  stand  still 
on  it. 

" '  Now,'  he  said,  '  there  you  are,  but  there  you 
cannot  stay.  A  great  grief  has  smitten  you  down. 
Will  you  listen  to  the  Tempter  who  is  trying  to 
make  you  think  hard  thoughts  of  God  ?  Will  you 
believe  that  because  the  Lord  kateth  you  he  chasten- 
eth  you  ?  Will  you  crouch  and  writhe  from  under 
the  rod  ?  Will  you  glide  down,  with  your  hand  in 
the  enemy's,  from  slope  to  slope,  from  depth  to 
depth,  from  darkness  to  darkness,  until  you  are  fit 
to  become  a  tempter  like  him,  and  to  say  to  others, 
as  he  says  to  you,  '  God  hath  forgotten !  Tush  !  he 
regardeth  not !  What  are  your  griefs  to  him.  ? 
Could  he  not  have  healed  them  all  with  a  word  ? 
He  sits  on  high  and  rules  the  stars,  not  you  and 
your  poor  little  petty  lives.'  Or  will  you  bow  down 
beneath  the  rod,  and  look  up  beneath  it,  and  take 
the  gracious  Hand  of  the  Comforter,  stretched  out 
to  you,  and  let  him  lift  you  up,  when  His  time 
comes ;  and  bruised,  and  humbled,  and  broken  as 
you  are,  lead  you  gently  on  and  up  to  where  he  can 
show  you  what  danger  he  drove  you  from,  in  smiting 
you  ?  until  he  makes  you  a  comforter  too,  and  from 
your  poor,  trembling  lips  shall  drop  on  the  hearts 
of  other  mourners  such  words  as  He  speaks  to  you. 
*  Because  the  Lord  loveth  he  chasteneth  you.'  He 
cares  for  every  pang  you  suffer.  But  he  cares  in- 
finitely more  to  save  you  from  sin.  For  that  He 
bowed  beneath  not  the  scourge  only,  but  the  cross. 
For  that,  dearly  as  He  loves  you,  He  spares  neither 
rod,  nor  sword,  nor  fire.  And  that,  if  you  will  yield 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  177 

yourselves  up  to  His  will  and  His  way  with  all 
your  hearts,  He  will  do.' 

"  I  went  out,  Miss  Grace,  and  my  goodman  said 
it  was  a  fine  discourse  for  the  Church  of  England. 
But  I  said  nothing.  Not  Mr.  Bertram,  but  the  Lord 
himself  had  been  preaching  to  me.  And  I  went  to 
my  poor  Maggie's  little  empty  room,  and  knelt 
down  by  her  little  empty  bed,  a  poor,  broken- 
hearted, stricken,  sinful  woman,  without  a  ray  of 
goodness,  or  strength,  or  hope,  and  I  said,  *  Lord, 
Lord,  not  down,  but  up  I  I  have  no  foothold ;  I 
have  no  strength.  Oh,  stretch  out  thy  hand ;  let 
me  not  perish !  Hold  Thou  me  up  ! — up  !  Not 
downwards,  but  upwards?  And  he  heard  me ! 
Heard  me  ?  Had  not  he  been  calling  me  all  those 
years,  until  at  last  he  opened  my  heart  to  hear  ? 
And  since  then  He  has  given  me  many  little  things 
to  do  for  Him,  and  never  to  this  day  let  me  set  up 
the  idol  again.  And  to  this  day  I  pray  He  ne"ver 
will." 

Thus  little  Grace  received  her  education  in  a  way 
that  brought  her  early  into  contact  with  some  his- 
torical facts  not  mentioned  in  her  "  Pinnock's  Gold- 
smith," and  with  many  very  ancient  problems, 
social,  political,  and  theological. 

She  learned  that  the  natural  dignity  of  character 
and  the  delicate  consideration  for  others  which 
constitutes  good-breeding,  are  not  peculiar  to  any 
social  class. 

She  learned  that  in  England,  in  this  nineteenth 
century,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  there  exist  more  than 
one  form  of  ecclesiastical  organization,  deeply 


178  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

rooted  in  the  hearts  and  homes  of  the  people,  rich 
in  historical  memories,  and  strong  with  the  force 
of  early  hereditary  association,  and  in  the  activity 
of  expansive  Christian  life.  Church  history  came 
before  her  as  a  question  of  facts  rather  than  of 
rights.  She  became  acquainted  with  various  doc- 
trinal and  ecclesiastical  differences,  as  absorbed  into 
living  Christian  hearts,  instead  of  as  petrified  into 
systems  and  confessions.  She  had  grown  to  feel  the 
unity  before  she  learned  to  perceive  the  variety. 

On  the  other  hand,  brought  up  in  that  forsaken 
East  of  London,  she  was  little  tempted  to  consider 
the  world  a  Utopia,  or  to  round  off  the  broken 
and  fragmentary  human  histories  around  her  into 
pretty  little  finished  moral  tales.  All  her  instinct 
for  piercing  through  the  discord  to  the  harmony 
could  not  resolve  in  this  visible  sphere  the  discord 
of  life.  History,  on  the  great  or  on  the  small  scale, 
seemed  to  her  strangely  typified  in  the  two  earliest 
epics  of  our  race.  The  music  of  the  Iliad  and  the 
Odyssey  floated  around  her  like  a  grand  mystical 
prelude  to  the  world's  history,  in  which  the  mel- 
odies of  the  drama  to  come  were  wonderfully 
gathered  and  foreshadowed.  Wars  and  wanderings 
of  the  heroes  were  to  her  a  picture  in  a  magic  mir- 
ror of  the  wars  and  wanderings  of  human  life, 
through  which  all  the  true  heroes  must  be  trained. 
Her  father,  and  Caleb  Treherne,  and  the  Miss 
Levels,  and  Mrs.  Anderson,  and  even  she  and  Harry, 
like  Hector,  and  Ulysses,  and  Gustavus  Adolphus, 
had  their  own  plains  of  Troy,  and  their  own  stormy 
Voyage  Home  by  perilous  unknown  shores, 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


179 


that  she  could  distinctly  have  stated  this  to  herself; 
but  all  these  influences  together  helped  to  mould 
the  loving,  buoyant  heart,  into  such  a  temper  of 
self-sacrificing  courage,  and  self-denying  endurance, 
as  is  needed  by  all  who  would  be  good  soldiers  of 
Jesus  Christ. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


entirely  new  light  began  to  dawn  on 
Winifred  as  to  the  meaning  and  object 
of  "  lessons."     Dictionaries  and  Gram- 
mars were  becoming  glorified  in  her 
eyes  into  "  keys  of  the  Expanding  Palace." 

The  unmeaning  and  disjointed  planks  and  nails 
she  had  been  laboriously  shaping  and  sharpening 
as  a  mere  mechanical  labor  were,  she  began  to  see, 
only  the  materials  for  building  ships  which  were  to 
be  her  wings  to  bear  her  on  to  new  worlds.  And 
thenceforth  every  rib,  and  plank,  and  nail  became 
to  her  like  the  feathers  of  these  new  wings.  That 
connection  between  the  details  and  the  whole,  be- 
tween the  little  tasks  and  the  great  purposes  of 
life,  began  to  be  revealed  to  her,  which  has  power 
to  transfigure  manufacture  into  art ;  the  aimless 
treading  of  the  treadmill  into  the  joyous  climbing 
of  "  the  world's  great  altar-stairs  ;"  the  toil  of  the 
beast  of  burden  into  the  work  of  those  whose  des- 
tiny it  is  to  be  fellow- workers  with  God.  A  great 
point  to  be  reached  in  any  kind  of  education. 
(180) 


WINIFRED  BERTRAM.  iSi 

When  it  is  reached  in  that  education  whose  gram- 
mars and  lexicons  are  hardships  and  disappoint- 
ments, humiliations  and  successes,  joys  and  sor- 
rows, and  whose  school  is  life,  the  weariness  and 
bitterness  pass  out  of  everything,  a  glorious  signifi- 
cance shines  through  the  dullest  lives ;  the  poor 
nails  and  planks  of  time  are  seen  to  be  indeed  but 
as  feathers  of  the  new  wings  which  are  to  bear  us 
on  to  new  worlds  ;  the  daily  task  which  is  training 
us  is  found  also  to  be  the  daily  work  which  is 
enriching  us.  Not,  indeed,  that  the  wisest  of  us, 
any  more  than  Winifred,  can  see  how  the  disjointed 
planks  are  to  grow  into  the  ship.  We  are  not  the 
architects  of  our  own  destiny,  but  only  the  day- 
laborers,  under  the  Architect ;  but  we  believe  in  it, 
and  we  believe  in  Him,  and  that  is  enough. 

For  other  educations  were  being  carried  on  be- 
side and  around  Winnie's. 

Mrs.  O'Brien  and  Maurice  were  also  learning 
their  lessons,  a  fact  of  which  Winnie  had  no  idea, 
she  having  a  vague  persuasion  that  the  primary 
meaning  of  being  grown-up  is  having  finished  one's 
education,  and  having,  moreover,  a  very  definite 
conviction  that  Maurice,  at  all  events,  had  learned 
all  any  one  could  ever  have  to  learn,  and  had  noth- 
ing to  do'  henceforth  but  to  help  other  people  up  to 
the  point  he  had  reached..  This  new  impulse  to 
Winnie's  activities  had  been  communicated  from 
more  than  one  point. 

In  the  first  place  she  had  been  learning  the  mean- 
ing of  prayer.  She  had  begun  to  know  it  not  as 
an  exercise  to  be  gone  through,  but  as  a  real  means 
16 


1 82  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

of  communication  with  God.  And  whenever  prayer 
becomes  a  reality  to  us,  everything  else  becomes 
real;  because  everything  becomes  connected  with 
God.  Just  as,  on  the  other  hand,  whenever  our 
prayers  become  shadowy  and  unreal,  our  life  is 
sure  to  become  shadowy  and  unreal  also ;  because 
everything  is  broken  off  from  God,  and  the  flowers 
of  our  life,  instead  of  growing  flowers,  cradles  of 
fruits,  and  buds,  become  here  gathered  and  perish- 
ing flowers  stuck  idly  in  a  child's  play-garden. 

In  the  second  place  Maurice's  stories  and  conver- 
sations had  helped  to  show  her  the  connection 
between  herself  and  others,  and  how  whatever  she 
acquired  or  possessed  might  become  riches  to  use 
for  the  pleasure  and  good  of  those  she  loved.  In 
the  third  place  she  was  growing  older.  And  in 
the  fourth  place  she  had  the  new  and  inspiring 
delight  of  a  companion. 

Three  times  in  the  week  she  met  Grace  at  a 
house  in  London,  and  Grace  shared  her  lessons 
in  German  and  in  water-colors,  and  also  occasion- 
ally received  hints  as  to  French  from  Rosalie,  to 
Grace's  intense  delight ;  for  she  had  a  secret  plan 
of  life  which  she  had  never  communicated  to  any 
one,  until  one  day,  in  a  moment  of  tender  confi- 
dence, she  entrusted  her  secret  to  Winnie.  Grace 
hoped  and  prayed  that  she  might  one  day  be  clever 
enough  to  be  a  daily  governess,  and  to  sell  her 
drawings,  so  that  Harry  might  be  able  to  go  to  the 
university,  and  that  her  father's  last  days  might  be 
resting  days. 

But  this  was  Grace's  one  great  secret,  which  no 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  183 

one  in  the  world  was  to  have  a  suspicion  of  un- 
til the  time  came,  in  return  for  which  Winnie 
confided  to  Grace  her  own  great  secret — that  if 
the  lady  in  white  glace,  threatened  by  Rosalie, 
failed  to  appear,  she  looked  forward  one  day  to 
living  with  Maurice  at  the  parsonage,  and  keeping 
house  for  him. 

On  the  other  hand,  Mrs.  O'Brien  had  for  some 
time  been  beginning  to  have  an  uneasy  feeling  that 
her  life  had  hitherto  been  like  a  dream  ;  that  she  had 
been  living  too  much  like  the  patients  in  a  lunatic 
asylum,  detached  from  all  around  her,  wrapped  up 
in  a  solitude  of  illusions. 

And  now  she  awoke  to  the  sense  that  she  was  in 
a  community.  Not  that  she  had  been  consciously 
living  only  for  herself.  Voices  from  the  outside 
world  had  indeed,  at  times,  penetrated  into  her 
inner  world,  as  a  patient  in  delirium  can  often  be 
roused  to  a  momentary  consciousness  by  a  direct 
appeal.  At  such  times  she  had  aroused  herself, 
listened,  understood,  given  what  was  asked,  and 
then  relapsed  again  into  her  life-dream.  But  now 
she  was  waking  indeed,  and  began  to  feel  that  she 
was  not  the  sole  tenant  of  a  world  of  her  own,  but 
a  unit  in  a  world  of  needy  and  suffering,  struggling 
men,  and  women,  and  little  children.  And  in  the 
confusion  of  her  half-waking  thoughts  she  began  to 
plunge  vaguely  hither  and  thither  in  search  of 
something  to  do  and.  somebody  to  help. 

In  this  perplexity,  one  day  when  her  physician 
Dr.  Dee  was  paying  one  of  his  periodical  visits,  she 
remembered  having  heard  that  Mrs.  Dee  was  a 


184  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

very  active  and  benevolent  woman,  and  she  resolved 
to  seek  an  introduction. 

"  I  have  heard  that  Mrs.  Dee  is  very  useful  and 
good,"  she  said. 

"  I  have  heard  so  too,  very  often,"  was  Dr.  Dee's 
rather  dry  reply.  "  Six  committees  a  week  on  an 
average.  Letters  enough  for  a  foreign  secretary. 
Our  eldest  daughter  is  indeed  quite  a  private  sec- 
retary. People  have  such  a  wonderful  opinion  of 
Mrs.  Dee's  judgment.  No  mere  romance  and  sen- 
timent with  Mrs.  Dee,  but  plain  practical  sense. 
Looks  into  cases  herself.  Wonderful  dispatch  of 
business.  Scarcely  an  instant's  leisure.  Variety 
of  work,  Mrs.  Dee  says,  is  her  repose.  A  noble 
sentiment — especially  for  angelic  beings.  To  or- 
dinary mortals  sometimes  a  little  overwhelming, 
Mrs.  O'Brien.  Even  to  me,  I  confess,  at  times, 
myself;  but  happily  there  are  long  distances  be- 
tween my  patients  sometimes,  which  are  a  rest  and 
relaxation ;  a  thing,  of  course,  not  to  be  expected 
in  the  house,  with  such  an  energetic  and  invaluable 
woman  as  Mrs.  Dee.  Not,  however,  I  should  think, 
much  in  your  way,"  he  concluded,  with  a  dry  little 
smile,  as  he  glanced  at  the  languid  form  half-reclin- 
ing in  the  low  chair  before  him. 

"  I  think  Mrs.  Dee  would  do  me  good,"  said  Mrs. 
O'Brien,  timidly.  "  I  wish  I  could  know  her." 

"  Mrs.  Dee  lives  to  do  good,"  he  replied.  "  No 
doubt  she  would  be  delighted,  my  dear  Mrs. 
O'Brien,  to  include  you  among  her  cases,  if  you 
wish  to  call  in  further  advice.  Only,  you  under- 
stand, if  the  treatment  is  too  severe,  I  am  not 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  185 

responsible.  Mrs.  Dee  lias  inexhaustible  energy — 
perfectly  inexhaustible.  She  has  no  experience  of 
fatigue — I  mean  subjectively — and  no  objective 
faith  in  nerves,  not  the  slightest ;  considers  them 
nothing  but  products  of  idleness  and  discontent : 
indeed,  considers  sickness  and  trouble  in  general 
quite  a  mistake,  always  to  have  been  prevented  if 
steadily  resisted  from  the  first,  and  always  to  be 
overcome  by  energy  and  judicious  advice." 

In  spite  of  which  warning,  it  was  arranged  that 
this  invaluable  lady  should  call  the  next  day ;  and 
Mrs.  O'Brien  conscientiously  prepared  herself  to 
go  through  a  course  of  Mrs.  Dee. 

Mrs.  Dee  did  not  appear  to  consider  her  patient's 
case  at  all  hopeless.  Mrs.  O'Brien  was  anxious  to 
have  something  to  do — "  a  most  healthy  symptom," 
said  Mrs.  Dee.  And  the  world  was  in  want  of  a 
great  deal  to  be  done.  Most  easy  circumstances  to 
adjust.  The  only  difficulty  was  to  discover  what 
was  Mrs.  O'Brien's  "  speciality " ;  and  this,  of 
course,  could  only  be  ascertained  by  experiment — 
the  soil  being  hitherto  fruitless  of  crops  of  any 
kind  which  could  determine  its  capabilities. 

Mrs.  Dee  began  with  committees — one  for  foreign 
female  missions,  one  for  an  orphan  asylum,  and  one 
for  a  school.  Mrs.  O'Brien  did  not  find  the  exer- 
tion demanded  by  this  species  of  work  at  all  an 
exorbitant  demand  on  her  energies,  physical  or 
intellectual.  She  drove  to  the  appointed  place  of 
meeting,  sat  silently  for  two  hours  among  a  number 
of  ladies,  also  either  silent  or  occasionally  engaged 
in  indulging  a  few  mild  "  asides ;"  while  Mrs.  Dee 
16* 


1 86  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

and  two  or  three  other  energetic  ladies  discussed 
and  settled  a  number  of  things  which  the  specta- 
tors then  approved  as  a  matter  of  course.  Mrs. 
O'Brien's  difficulty  on  these  occasions  was  to  per- 
suade herself  slie  was  doing  anything.  Mrs.  Dee 
assured  her  she  was.  She  was  giving  her  sanction. 
And  it  was  most  important  that  such  good  works 
should  have  the  sanction  of  numbers,  a  considera- 
tion which,  unhappily,  did  not  satisfy  Mrs.  O'Brien, 
because,  being  naturally  scrupulous  and  anxious, 
she  felt  considerably  alarmed  at  giving  her  sanc- 
tion to  a  quantity  of  mysterious  proceedings  which 
she  could  not  fathom.  And,  moreover,  she  felt  she 
had  much  rather  have  been  in  some  way  directly 
cheering  the  blind  people  in  the  asylum,  or  person- 
ally helping  the  children  in  the  school,  than  indi- 
rectly setting  some  invisible  machine  in  motion  by 
sitting  in  a  committee-room.  But  how  to  do  this  she 
had  no  clear  idea.  Once  she  had  ventured  on  a 
faint  effort  at  making  acquaintance  with  the  blind 
girls  in  the  asylum,  by  means  of  little  observations 
about  their  work ;  but  the  blind  people  were  shy, 
and  Mrs.  O'Brien  was  shy,  and  a  sympathetic  re- 
mark addressed  to  one,  with  the  consciousness  that 
a  room-full  of  quick  ears  were  listening,  seemed  to 
Mrs.  O'Brien  an  operation  too  painfully  like  public 
speaking  to  be  pursued  to  any  extent.  If  she  had 
known  one  blind  woman  as  a  human  link,  it  would 
have  made  all  the  difference.  Similarly,  on  the 
occasions  on  which  she  had  officially  visited  the 
school,  the  mistress,  not  to  say  the  pupil-teachers, 
seemed  to  Mrs.  O'Brien  so  much  wiser  than  herself, 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  •  rfj 

that  she  felt  it  quite  a  liberty  even  to  offer  any 
commendations. 

At  length  she  communicated  these  difficulties  to 
Mrs.  Dee,  who  was  instantly  ready  with  a  remedy. 

"  Personal  work  ?  O  yes,  I  see.  You  wish  for 
personal  work  among  the  poor.  By  far  the  highest 
work,  my  dear  Mrs.  O'Brien  ;  what  I  prefer  myself, 
decidedly.  But  we  must  not  choose.  Some  must 
be  content  to  be  pioneers  and  directors.  I  can 
accommodate  you  at  once.  A  few  months  since  I 
undertook  a  district  in  the  east  of  London.  I  can 
introduce  you,  and  hand  it  over  to  you  at  once. 
To-morrow  I  will  bring  you  my  book,  and  we  will 
begin,  if  you  like,  on  the  spot." 

Accordingly  the  book  was  brought,  in  which 
Mrs.  Dee  had  classified  the  human  beings  living  in 
her  district.  There  were  about  a  hundred  families 
to  be  visited,  so  that  personal  acquaintance  seemed 
to  Mrs.  O'Brien  a  thing  difficult,  at  least,  to  acquire 
in  a  morning  ;  but  Mrs.  Dee  assured  her  that  classi- 
fication was  everything ;  and  to  illustrate  this, 
showed  her  the  hundred  human  beings  classified 
with  as  much  decision  and  precision  as  substances 
in  a  treatise  on  chemistry. 

"  No.  1,  Treherne.  Green-grocer.  Woman  clean 
and  independent,  but  apt  to  be  violent.  Objects 
to  interference.  Must  be  kept  in  her  place.  Six 
children.  Go  to  Wesleyan  school.  Strong  Dis- 
senter; not  open  to  conviction.  Husband  quiet 
and  civil,  but  not  easy  to  get  at.  He  keeps  out  of 
the  way." 

"Do  you  call  on  the  shopkeepers?"   said  Mrs. 


1 88  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

O'Brien,  in  a  startled  manner.  "I  should  never 
have  ventured.  I  only  thought  of  going  to  see  the 
people  who  want  help." 

"  Most  people  feel  with  you,"  was  the  reply ; 
"  but  I  never  yield  to  prejudices.  Everything  I  do, 
I  do  thoroughly.  If  I  undertake  a  district,  I  under- 
take every  house  in  it.  If  people  don't  want  help, 
they  always  want  advice ;  and  if  they  don't  like 
advice,  that  only  shows  they  want  it  all  the  more. 
If  they  refuse  to  see  me,  of  course  that  is  their 
fault.  I  have  delivered  my  conscience  and  they 
must  take  the  responsibility." 

And  she  proceeded  with  the  book. 

"  No.  8.  Two  old  maids,  who  call  themselves  the 
Miss  Lovels,  who  keep  what  they  term  an  *  Acad- 
emy for  Young  Ladies.'  (I  did  call  there  once ; 
but  the  eldest  sister  looked  like  thunder,  and  said 
it  must  be  a  mistake,  as  they  had  not  the  pleasure 
of  my  acquaintance.  A  very  ridiculous  person. 
But  I  have  not  called  again.  I  have  no  patience 
Mrs.  O'Brien,  with  such  wretched  affectations  of 
imitating  the  higher  classes.  I  have  a  class  of 
dressmakers  and  shop-girls,  who  call  themselves 
young  ladies  ;  but  I  always  make  a  point  of  calling 
them  '  young  persons '  on  every  occasion)". 

"  Do  they  submit  to  it  ?"  said  Mrs.  O'Brien., 

"  Those  who  come  must"  said  Mrs.  Dee.  "  Cer- 
tainly the  class  has  become  very  small ;  but  that  is 
not  my  fault.  It  is  just  like  the  contest  which  the 
missionaries  in  India  had  about  caste." 

"  Only  a  little  the  other  way,  isn't  it  ?"  suggested 
Mrs.  O'Brien,  in  some  perplexity. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  1 89 

"I  think,"  pursued  Mrs.  Dee,  not  heeding  the 
interruption,  "  in  these  socialistic  days,  one  of  our 
chief  duties  in  visiting  the  poor  is  to  teach  them 
their  places.  I  have  no  idea  of  these  petty  distinc- 
tions; the  little  shopkeeper  despising  the  honest 
day-laborer,  and  people  like  those  Miss  Lovels  look- 
ing down  on  both.  Indeed,  I  never  miss  an  oppor- 
tunity of  showing  how  unscriptural  these  miserable 
little  distinctions  are." 

"  But,"  said  Mrs.  O'Brien,  timidly,  "  do  the  peo- 
ple like  it  ?" 

"  That  is  no  affair  of  ours,"  was  Mrs.  Dee's  reply, 
in  the  grand  style.  "We  shall  do  little  good, 
indeed,  in  the  world  if  we  are  considering  what 
people  tike." 

Poor  Mrs.  O'Brien  was  silenced ;  but  she  began 
to  think  that  "  district-visiting "  must  be  a  very 
terrible  ordeal  indeed,  if  it  was  to  be  a  course  of 
driving  over  people's  prejudices,  and  grinding  them 
to  a  level.  At  length  she  ventured  to  say : 

"  But  there  are  a  good  many  distinctions,  dear 
Mrs.  Dee,  even  among  people  in  our  own  position, 
which  might  seem  petty  from  a  still  higher  point 
of  view.  One  would  not  quite  like,  for  instance, 
to  invite  one's  tailor  to  dinner ;  although,"  she  pur- 
sued, apologizing  to  the  imaginary  tailor,  "  I  have 
heard  there  are  tailors  living  in  the  best  style,  with 
families  very  well  educated.  Yet  it  would  not  be 
quite  liked,  would  it,  if  one  asked  one's  friends  to 
meet  them  ?" 

"  Of  course  not,  Mrs.  O'Brien ;  the  idea  is  an 
obvious  absurdity.  There  always  have  been,  and 


190  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

always  must  be,  these  distinctions.  But  what  has 
that  to  do  with  the  poor  and  with  district-visit- 
ing?" 

"  Oh,  nothing,  of  course,"  said  Mrs.  O'Brien,  re- 
treating in  confusion,  and  without  the  least  inten- 
tion of  flinging  a  Parthian  dart  in  her  flight.  "  No 
doubt,  nothing  to  do  with  it  at  all  Of  course  no 
one  would  ever  think  of  making  us  into  a  district, 
and  district-visiting  us.  I  only  meant  I  am  afraid 
whether  this  is  work  I  am  fit  for  ?" 

"  You  will  learn  ;  you  will  gain  courage  and  ex- 
perience, my  dear  Mrs.  O'Brien.  Everything  must 
have  a  beginning."  And  Mrs.  Dee  resumed  the 
classification : 

"No.  12.  Anderson.  Baker.  Scotch.  No  chil- 
dren. Had  two.  Died  ten  years  since.  Woman 
very  reserved.  A  bigoted  Presbyterian.  Spoke  to 
her  of  the  advantages  of  our  inestimable  liturgy. 
Said  it  might  be  very  well  for  the  English.  Scotch 
terribly  self-opinionated — and  dirty.  Remarked 
strongly  on  dust  on  her  dressers.  No  family  to 
put  things  out  of  order.  House  ought  to  be  a 
model.  Quite  sullen.  Seemed  to  think  it  a  liberty ! 

"No.  16.  Widow.  Laundress.  Consumptive 
daughter.  Complains  of  neighborhood  having 
changed,  and  customers  left.  Gave  her  a  coal- 
ticket,  and  a  tract  on  Contentment,  and  showed 
how  far  money  can  be  made  to  go  with  manage- 
ment. Not  so  thankful  as  might  be  expected. 
(Would  have  preferred  half-a-crown  probably  and 
no  tract.  But,  above  all,  my  dear  Mrs.  O'Brien, 
beware  of  pauperizing.) 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


191 


"No.  18.  Irishwoman.  Drunken  husband.  Com- 
plains of  bad  health.  Wretched  room.  Children 
not  at  school.  Showed  how  impossible  to  have 
anything  but  bad  health  and  drunken  husband  with 
such  a  miserable  room.  Left  a  sanitary  tract. 
Explained  why  it  is  against  our  principles  to  help 
women  with  drunken  husbands.  Encourages  vice. 
Cried,  and  seemed  quite  convinced. 

"  No.  19.  Man  out  of  work  a  fortnight.  Three 
children.  Complained  of  machinery.  Could  not 
make  five  shillings  where  used  to  earn  a  sovereign. 
Explained  how  machinery  did  good  in  the  end, 
although  inconvenient  to  some  at  first,  and  how  the 
world  must  advance.  Could  not  see  it.  Thought 
people  must  live.  Civil,  but  ripe  for  socialism. 
Things  going  daily  to  pawnshop  for  food.  Spoke 
strongly  of  evils  of  pawn  system.  No  attempt  at 
reply,  but  muttered,  Children  could  not  be  let 
starve. 

"  No.  20.  Mechanic.  Broken  arm.  Infidel  prin- 
ciples. Said  there  are  so  many  religions,  no  know- 
ing which  is  right.  Showed  he  ought  to  know. 
Spoke  of  sin  of  infidelity.  Showed  what  will  be 
the  end  of  infidels,  and  that  no  one  does  disbelieve 
except  because  they  wish  to  disbelieve.  Looked  as 
if  he  could  be  insolent.  Rather  desperate  case." 

But  by  this  time  Mrs.  O'Brien  was  so  convinced 
of  her  incapacity  for  the  task  proposed  to  her,  that 
she  gathered  courage  decisively  to  break  off  the 
negotiations.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  this  method 
of  dealing  with  human  beings  would  be  removing 
oneself  even  further  from  them  than  by  keeping 


I92  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

within  the  machinery  of  committee-rooms.  Mrs. 
Dee's  method  of  district-visiting  seemed  to  her  to 
transform  the  whole  human  race  into  a  set  of 
machines  which  had  gone  wrong,  and  were  put 
under  Mrs.  Dee's  charge  to  be  rectified.  And  she 
shrank  appalled  from  the  task. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Dee,"  said  she,  "  I  have  so  little  ex- 
perience, I  really  don't  know  in  the  least  how  to 
tell  that  poor  widow  the  way  to  make  her  money 
go  further.  I  am  afraid  I  should  never  make  it  go 
half  so  far.  I  have  not  the  least  idea  what  to  do 
if  I  saw  the  poor  creatures  wanting  anything,  ex- 
cept to  help  them  to  get  it;  and  that,  you  say, 
would  be  interfering  with  the  whole  social  system, 
and  making  paupers.  So  I  think  I  had  better  wait 
till  I  see  my  way  a  little,  and  keep  to  the  commit- 
tees." 

Mrs.  Dee  soon  retired  in  a  compassionate  frame 
of  mind,  and  Mrs.  O'Brien  wondered  if  she  kept  a 
district-book  for  "  cases  "  in  her  own  rank  of  life, 
to  which  she  felt  it  her  mission  to  "  do  good  ;"  and 
if  so,  she  pictured  to  herself  some  such  entry  as 
the  following : 

"O'Brien.  Woman  unmanageable.  Troubled 
with  '  nerves  '  and  i  scruples.'  Seems  at  first  amen- 
able to  reason,  but  in  reality  full  of  a  quiet,  imper- 
meable obstinacy.  Resists  every  effort  to  put  her 
in  the  right  way.  Spoke  plainly  to  her  on  duty  of 
saying  disagreeable  truths.  Smiled,  and  was  civil, 
but  did  not  yield.  Rather  a  desperate  case." 

Mrs.  O'Brien  had  not  yet  found  the  links  she  was 
vaguely  searching  for.  Perhaps  there  was  another 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  I93 

link  which  needed  riveting  first.  The  connection 
with  the  fountain  needs  to  be  opened  before  the 
connection  with  the  fields  to  be  watered. 

Perhaps  she  had  yet  to  learn  that  the  "  Come 
unto  me  and  drink  "  must  always,  at  first  and  every 
day,  precede  the  "  flowing  forth  of  the  streams  of 
living  water."  The  being  and  becoming  must  come 
before  the  doing. 

All  these  endeavors  and  conflicts  had,  it  must  be 
confessed,  the  immediate  effect  of  making  Mrs. 
O'Brien  not  quite  such  a  serene  companion  for 
Winnie  as  she  had  been.  Hitherto,  when  Winnie 
had  done  any  lesson  unusually  well,  she  had  always 
been  sure  of  a  sign  of  a  rather  languid  approval, 
and  an  indulgent  entreaty  not  to  overtask  herself. 
Now,  frequently,  when  Mrs.  O'Brien  looked  over 
her  drawings,  or  heard  her  repeat  German  or  French 
poetry,  she  would  give  a  little  sigh,  and  warn  Win- 
nie not  to  let  her  precious  days  of  sowing  pass  by 
unused.  And  once  or  twice  she  was  almost  fretful 
with  Winnie  for  not  preparing  her  lessons  in  time  ; 
fretting  being  the  nearest  approach  Mrs.  O'Brien 
could  make  to  scolding.  "  It  is  a  sad  thing,"  she 
said  one  day,  "  to  have  to  be  sowing  in  harvest-time, 
In  our  climate,  at  least,  there  are  no  second  crops 
to  be  depended  on."  All  which  transformation  be- 
wildered Winnie  not  a  little. 

But  what  surprised  and  bewildered  her  far  more 
was  an  interview  she  had  one  evening  with  Mau- 
rice. She  had  seen  him  coming  up  the  lawn  as  she 
was  writing  an  exercise  at  the  library-window,  and 
17 


!9<j.  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

bounding  out  of  it,  she  had  her  hand  in  his  in  a 
moment.  But  there  was  something  in  his  face 
which  froze  the  histories  she  had  to  tell  him  on  her 
lips.  It  was  not  that  he  looked  displeased,  or 
exactly  sad,  but  pre-occupied.  He  seemed  not  to 
see  her  coming,  when  usually  he  met  her  with  hi& 
looks  such  a  long  way  off.  And  when  she  came 
close  to  him,  although  his  face  brightened  for  a 
moment,  and  his  voice  had  its  old  tones  of  welcome, 
the  brightness  seemed  to  pass  like  a  sunbeam  flit- 
ting over  a  snowy  landscape,  and  the  lips  were 
compressed,  and  the  two  furrows  came  back  to  his 
forehead. 

Winnie  crept  closer  to  him  and  ventured  to  say 
at  last,  "  Nothing  is  the  matter  with  Dan,  Maurice, 
or  with  Fan  ?" 

He  looked  at  her  in  wonder. 

Then  suddenly  Winnie's  great  dread  rushed  irre- 
sistibly over  her,  she  colored  crimson,  stopped,  and 
said  with  a  great  gasp :  "  Don't  mind  telling  me, 
Maurice.  Don't  be  afraid;  I  can  bear  it.  If  the 
lady  Rosalie  talks  about  is  coming,  I  had  rather 
know  at  once,  please,  and  I  will  try  and  love  her ; 
indeed  I  will."  Then  he  wakened  up  entirely,  and 
fixed  his  eyes  full  on  Winnie,  with  a  flash  such  as 
she  had  never  seen  in  them.  But  he  only  said : 

"  That  woman  is  too  foolish,  Winnie,  she  ought 
not  to  be  allowed  to  talk  such  nonsense  to  a  child 
like  you.  No  lady  is  coming,  or  ever  was,  or  ever 
is  to  be.  And  you  must  not  let  Rosalie  take  such 
liberties." 

Very  unlike  Maurice,  especially  as  only  a  week 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


'95 


since  he  had  seemed  rather  to  enjoy  her  telling  him 
Rosalie's  ideas  about  the  white  glace  and  Brussels 
point.  So  he  went  hastily  in  at  the  library  window, 
and  Winnie  followed,  feeling  as  if  mines  were  spring- 
ing under  her  feet  everywhere,  bitterly  reproaching 
herself  for  the  great  mistake  she  had  unconsciously 
committed,  and  wondering  what  it  was.  Reproach- 
ing Maurice  was  a  treason  that  never  entered  her 
loyal  heart. 

Maurice  continued  a  few  moments  apparently 
absorbed  in  Winnie's  exercise,  and  then  looking  up, 
he  said  cheerily  in  his  own  ordinary  tone  : 

"  You  are  to  be  my  little  woman  in  white,  little 
sister,  and  you  can  tell  Rosalie  so  the  next  time  she 
perplexes  you  on  the  subject." 

"  Oh,  Maurice  !"  she  said,  "  are  you  really  in 
earnest  ?" 

He  was  quite  startled  when  he  looked  down  on 
the  little  flushed  face,  so  eager  and  intense  was  the 
expression,  the  great  earnest  eyes  watching  for  his 
answer  as  if  it  had  been  a  sentence  of  life  or  death. 

"  Mean  to  bury  you  in  a  dreadful  den  of  bricks 
and  mortar,"  he  said,  with  a  slight  bitterness,  as  if 
he  were  making  a  quotation,  "  not  unless  you  like, 
and  papa  and  mamma  like,  which  is  very  doubtful." 

"  Oh,  papa  and  mamma  have  Alick,  and  Jamie, 
and  Allan,  and  the  baby,"  she  said ;  "  besides,  of 
course,  I  do  not  mean  until  I  am  quite  wise,  and 
old,  and  fit ;  and  then  every  one  will  be  grown  up, 
and  of  course  I  can  be  spared." 

"  But  what  if  you  should  be  a  little  woman  in 
white  on  your  own  account  before  that  time  comes  ?" 


196  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

"  I !"  exclaimed  Winnie  indignantly,  "  when  I 
might  stay  with  you,  Maurice,  instead  !  But,"  she 
concluded,  with  a  sudden  flash  of  suspicion,  "  Grace 
never  told  you,  did  she  ?  It  is  your  own  thought." 

"  Told  me  what  ?" 

"  How  I  wished  it.  Because^it  was  my  secret, 
Maurice,  and  I  never  told  any  one  but  Grace.  Was 
it  your  very  own  thought,  Maurice ;  and  do  you 
really  mean  it  ?" 

"  I  should  like  nothing  better  in  the  world,"  he 
said,  rather  sadly,  "  but  we  must  not  be  too  eager 
in  making  plans." 

"  Grace  says  we  must  not  make  cares,  but  she 
thinks  we  may  make  plans,  especially  if  we  make 
them  into  prayers." 

"  But  God  who  loves  us  has  also  plans  for  us, 
and  knows  best,  Winnie,"  he  said,  very  gently, 
"  and  then  if  we  have  been  too  eager  in  our  plans, 
it  is  not  always  so  easy  to  take  His  instead,  and  be 
pleased  with  them." 

But  she  was  too  overfilled  with  delight  to  take 
the  check,  although  there  was  something  in  his 
manner  which  prevented  her  talking  to  him  any 
more  about  it. 

That  evening  Winnie  thanked  God  in  the  depths 
of  her  heart  that  he  had  given  her  the  wish  of  her 
heart. 

She  little  knew  at  what  a  cost  to  Maurice. 

She  little  knew  that  what  to  her  was  the  thresh- 
hold  of  a  new  world  of  living  hopes,  was  to  him 
the  gravestone  of  a  whole  world  of  buried  hopes. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  197 

For  he  also  had  had  visions  of  a  radiant  presence 
which  was  to  brighten  his  dingy  East  End  parson- 
age into  something  better  than  a  palace,  and  but 
yesterday  he  had  found  they  were  no  prophetic 
visions,  but  simply  dreams. 

It  had  happened  that  in  a  country  curacy  which 
he  had  held  for  a  few  months,  the  old  manor-house 
was  occupied  by  a  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Denison  and  one 
daughter,  Minna  Denison.  She  was  not  an  only 
daughter.  The  old  halls  had  echoed  to  the  wed- 
ding festivities  of  three  of  her  sisters ;  three  bro- 
thers were  scattered  far  and  wide  through  the  land, 
and  she,  the  youngest,  had  inherited  the  love  of  all 
the  six.  To  her  parents  she  was  a  sort  of  combined 
child  and  grandchild.  Her  father  marvelled  at  her 
quaint  little  sayings  as  he  had  when  she  had  been 
"  baby."  Her  mother  received  the  capricious  little 
caressings,  with  which  she  won  her  own  way,  as 
proofs  of  an  impulsive  but  sensitive  heart.  Her 
brothers,  if  sometimes  they  saw  through  her  little 
wiles,  thought  them  delightfully  feminine,  espe- 
cially as  they  were  very  frequently  exercised  on 
their  behalf,  and  had  rescued  them  from  sundry 
scrapes  from  boyhood  upward.  Her  sisters,  being 
some  years  older,  petted  her  nearly  as  much  as  their 
own  children ;  and  the  children,  catching  the  fam- 
ily infection,  considered  Aunt  Minna  the  model  of 
beauty  and  the  perfection  of  kindness  ;  except  when 
her  pleasures  happened  to  cross  theirs,  on  which 
occasions  they  found  themselves  in  the  most  inex- 
plicable and  endearing  manner,  charmed  out  of 
Annt  Minna's  way.  And  finally  she  herself  entirely 


198  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

agreed  with  all  her  admirers,  and  was  far  too 
securely  enthroned  in  her  own  and  other  people's 
good  graces  to  be  guilty  of  an  uneasy  self-assertion. 
If  individuals  (or  nations)  are  extraordinarily  ad- 
dicted to  self-laudation,  it  is  generally  to  bo  con- 
cluded that  they  are  not  so  absolutely  convinced 
of  their  superiority  as  they  wish  others  to  be. 
Boastings  are  very  often  only  the  conclusions  of  an 
internal  argument  in  self-defense.  In  Minna's  mind 
there  was  no  conflict  of  this  kind,  and  thus  she  was 
free  to  acknowledge  every  one  else's  excellences, 
and  to  sympathize  with  every  one's  sentiments  and 
tastes.  With  opinions  she  concerned  herself  little. 
"  Women,"  she  said,  "  like  the  rest  of  the  inferior 
animals,  are  always  really  guided  by  instinct." 
For  one  of  Minna's  "  sentiments  "  was  the  enthroni- 
zation  of  everything  masculine,  of  the  lesser  throne 
for  the  queen  consort  she  had  no  idea ;  woman's 
place,  she  considered,  was  the  footstool.  The  old 
Greek  ideal  of  Hector  and  Andromache  was  not  hers, 
nor  the  Saxon  ideal  of  lord  and  lady,  nor  the  old 
Christian  ideal  of  "  service,"  nor  the  old  Teutonic 
ideal  of  the  Hausmutter,  nor  the  old  Divine  ideal 
of  the  "  help-meet ;"  but  a  transcendental  combina- 
tion of  Oriental,  mediaeval,  and  Celtic  ideas,  pas- 
sionate adoration,  "  le  besoin  de  se  devouer"  from  the 
heights  of  which  she  looked  supremely  down  on 
women's  books,  women's  music,  women's  opinions, 
and  all  feminine  things  in  general  except  herself. 

Unlike  little  Grace  Leigh,  Minna  Denison's  favo- 
rite books  counted  their  age  by  days  and  months, 
scarcely  by  years,  certainly  not  by  decades ;  if,  in- 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  199 

deed,  any  one  could  be  said  to  have  favorite  books 
who  never  read  any  book  more  than  once. 

So  Minna  grew  to  eighteen,  prepared,  as  she  be- 
lieved, for  unlimited  self-sacrifice,  when  the  true 
object  of  adoration  should  appear,  and  meantime 
mingling  the  incense  of  her  own  admiration  with 
that  offered  to  her  from  all  around  her,  with  no 
more  conception  that  the  world  or  self  was  her  ob- 
ject in  life,  than  Maurice  Bertram  had,  when  he  fell 
in  love  with  her.  She  worldly  ?  Had  she  not  re- 
fused the  best  marriage  in  the  county  ?  She  sel- 
fish, who  caressed  her  mother  and  amused  her 
father,  and  mediated  for  her  brothers,  and  indulged 
her  nephews  and  nieces,  and  had  bewitching  smiles 
for  every  old  woman  and  little  child  in  the  country ; 
and  was  prepared  for  that  heroic  life  whenever  the 
call  should  come  ?  If  she  found  pleasure  in  all 
these  sweet  ways  of  hers,  it  was  because  of  the  in- 
herent sweetness  of  her  nature.  If  she  had  a  way 
of  escaping  doing  everything  that  was  unpleasant, 
of  leaving  the  tiresome  visits,  and  the  tiresome 
letters,  and  all  dealings  with  poor  people  who  were 
cross  or  unpleasant,  or  with  friends  who  were  bores, 
or  with  children  who  were  fretful,  to  her  mother  or 
sisters,  who  could  wonder  at  "  that  poor  tender- 
hearted child"  avoiding  such  things?  She  felt 
everything  so  much  more  than  others !  And  be- 
sides, when  the  hour  came,  was  she  not  prepared 
for  martyrdom  ?  Thus  Minna  Denison  was  among 
that  most  dangerous  class  of  impostors  who  first 
impose  on  themselves. 

And  Maurice  Bertram,  coming  fresh  from  the 


200  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

university  to  the  parish  in  which  she  lived,  fell  into 
the  ranks  of  her  captives  at  once,  and  walked  hum- 
bly in  the  "  Trionfo  de  Madonna  Minna."  She,  on 
her  part,  was  not  without  interest  in  him.  She  had 
heard  of  his  confronting  storms  on  the  snowy 
moors,  and  encountering  infectious  diseases  in  visit- 
ing the  sick ;  and  she,  who  never  voluntarily  en- 
countered a  cold  blast  or  a  storm,  admired  this  in 
him,  and  showed  him  the  way  to  one  or  two  cot- 
tages, where  old  dependents  of  her  family  wel- 
comed her  as  something  between  a  nursling  and  an 
angel.  She  read  the  books  he  lent  her  with  a  deli- 
cate appreciation  which  amazed  him,  illogical  and 
unintellectual  as  she  always  declared  herself  to  be ; 
and  then  she  always  had  some  delicious  little  diffi- 
culty in  them  which  she  was  sure  Mr.  Bertram 
could  solve.  She  entered  into  his  enthusiastic  plans 
for  helping  and  raising  his  fellow-creatures  with  a 
penetrating  sympathy  which  made  him  feel  as  if 
they  had  been  in  her  heart  before  they  were  in  his ; 
and  Minna  very  nearly  believed  the  same.  Much 
of  her  fascination  lay  in  the  faculty  she  had  of 
living  for  the  time  in  the  part  she  was  playing.  If 
she  had  been  an  actress  by  profession  (instead  of 
being  only  one  by  nature)  when  she  represented 
Queen  Constance,  no  doubt  the  stage  Prince  Arthur 
would  have  felt  her  hot  tears  upon  his  cheek. 

Occasionally  Maurice  wished  she  had  been  a  lit- 
tle less  medieval  in  her  tastes ;  but  it  was  not  from 
"  opinion  "  of  any  kind  that  the  little  library  where 
she  spent  most  of  her  time  was  fitted  up  with  ivory 
crucifixes  and  marble  madonnas,  and  with  one  great 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  201 

pathetic  wooden  crucifix  from  Nuremberg,  which, 
after  a  suggestion  from  Maurice  as  to  its  terrible 
truth,  he  found  a  few  days  afterwards  tenderly 
veiled  in  transparent  muslin.  Minna  was  not  High 
Church,  nor  Low  Church,  nor  Broad  Church,  nor 
anything  angular  or  defined  of  any  kind.  She 
"  assisted "  at  an  altar  more  ancient  and  more  uni- 
versal than  any  Church  parties.  She  had  only 
"  sweet  child-like  yearnings  after  all  that  was  beau- 
tiful and  true."  How  could  a  creature  with  those 
delicious  dreamy  brown  eyes,  which  rested  on  you 
with  a  sweet  childish  unconsciousness,  and  then 
sank  vailed  under  the  long  lashes,  quite  unaware 
that  they  had  pierced  into  your  heart ;  and  those 
delicate,  childlike  lips,  with  smiles  like  a  child's 
playing  on  them,  and  that  hair  of  true  auburn, 
which  was  not  a  color  merely,  but  golden  light  and 
soft  shade,  help  having  sympathy  with  everything 
that  was  lovely,  whether  pre-Raphaelite,  Papal,  or 
Pagan? 

So  it  happened  that  Maurice  loved  Minna  Deni- 
son,  and  loving  her,  believed  her  to  be  Andromache, 
and  Una,  and  Miranda,  and  Wordsworth's  "  Per- 
fect Woman,"  and  Elaine,  and  Enid,  and  the  Prin- 
cess— and  every  ideal  of  perfect  womanhood  in 
one ;  and  yet  not  a  mere  combination  of  perfections, 
but  herself,  Minna  Denison,  the  best  of  all,  with 
all  kinds  of  delicious  and  charming  imperfections 
of  her  own,  on  account  of  which  she  was  to  be 
cherished,  and  shielded,  and  guarded  with  the 
whole  strength  of  his  heart  all  her  life  long,  if  she 
would  only  suffer  it  so  to  be.  And  being  a  man 


202  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

vowed  to  a  high  calling,  he  was  also  persuaded  that 
in  loving  Minna  Denison  he  was  making  the  wisest, 
most  deliberate,  and  most  beneficent  choice  he  could 
make,  for  which  all  future  generations  of  his  future 
parishioners  would  have  cause  to  bless  him. 

So,  after  a  few  months  in  the  parish  of  Beech- 
lands,  he  departed  for  his  curacy  in  the  manufac- 
turing districts,  persuaded  that  Minna  Denison 
thought  it  the  noblest  work  in  the  world  to  live  to 
ennoble  and  Christianize  the  great  patient  working- 
classes;  and  also  persuaded  that  she  must  know, 
although  he  had  not  spoken,  how  entirely  his  heart 
was  hers.  In  which  last  persuasion  he  was  proba- 
bly right. 

Two  years  passed  in  this  manufacturing  town — 
years  of  hard,  patient  work,  of  many  disappoint- 
ments, and  of  some  most  precious  successes — in- 
spired to  Maurice,  next  to  the  heavenly  love  and 
duty  which  truly  held  the  divine  place  in  his 
heart — by  that  sweet  human  hope  (earthly  he  would 
not  call  it),  of  a  home  one  day  to  be  blessed  by 
that  gentle  radiant  presence.  Twice  during  those 
years  he  saw  her,  and  she  seemed  always  equally 
interested  to  hear  of  his  work,  whether  from  the 
royal  graciousness  with  which  she  entered  into  the 
interests  of  all,  or  from  a  deeper  feeling,  he  could 
not  tell.  Then  came  the  gift  of  the  living  in  the 
east  of  London.  He  accepted  it,  made  acquaintance 
with  it,  and  went  at  once  to  Beechlands. 

He  met  Minna  in  the  wood  between  the  lodge 
and  the  house.  He  spoke  to  her  with  trembling 
eagerness  of  his  new  home.  She  said  it  was  a  no- 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  203 

ble  self-sacrifice,  but  very  terrible,  she  was  afraid. 
If  it  had  been  among  those  fine  fishermen  in  Corn- 
wall, or  among  the  manly  intelligent  mechanics  of 
the  north,  or  even  among  the  New  Zealanders  or 
Brahmins,  it  might  have  been  easier,  but  Cock- 
neys (she  said  the  word  hesitatingly)  were  a  little 
too  trying,  were  they  not  ? 

Then  he  plunged  into  his  declaration,  and  told 
her  all  she  might  be — what  an  angel  to  the  poor, 
what  unutterable  help  and  joy  to  him,  what  an  in- 
spiration the  thought  of  her  had  been  to  him.  She 
listened  composedly,  a  little  troubled,  a  good  deal 
perplexed,  and  at  last,  when  he  ceased,  she  an- 
swered him  in  the  truest  words  she  had  ever  spoken : 

"  Mr.  Bertram,  I  am  very  sorry,  but  I  am  afraid 
we  have  misunderstood  each  other.  I  have  no 
idea  of  practical  work,  not  the  least.  I  should  be 
quite  lost  in  district  visiting  and  Sunday-schools, 
and  all  that  kind  of  thing.  In  a  general  way,  of 
course,  nothing  can  be  nobler  than  such  a  life.  But 
I  have  no  head  for  details.  I  should  be  dreadfully 
in  your  way.  I  assure  you,  you  would  very  soon 
agree  with  me ;  and  besides,  poor  dear  papa  and 
mamma,  what  would  they  say  ?  It  would  be  cruel 
to  mention  it." 

"  Miss  Denison,"  he  said,  bent  on  knowing  the 
worst,  "  would  it  make  any  real  difference  if  I 
could  change  my  home  ?  Is  it  the  place  you  shrink 
from,  or  is  it  the  work,  or  is  it  more  than  that  ?" 

"  How  can  I  define  and  divide  things  so  precisely," 
she  said  a  little  pettishly.  "You  know,"  she 
added,  with  a  little  pleading  look,  "  I  never  could 


204  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

manage  to  analyze  things ;  I  always  see  things  and 
people  blended  together,  I  cannot  separate.  I  as- 
sure you,  Mr.  Bertram,  I  shall  always  think  with 
the  greatest  interest  of  your  work,  but  I  am  quite 
unworthy  to  share  it.  Indeed  you  must  not  think 
any  more  of  it." 

There  was  something  in  the  little  perplexed  yet 
decided  manner  which  spoke  more  to  him  than  her 
words.  She  seemed  scarcely  so  much  pained  even 
as  vexed.  He  was  quite  sure  she  was  too  good  and 
generous  to  have  really  cared  what  the  work  was 
if  she  had  one  grain  of  real  affection  for  him. 
With  a  man  more  worthy  of  her,  more  able  to  have 
won  and  satisfied  her,  she  would  have  been  equal 
to  anything,  he  was  sure.  It  was  not  the  London 
parish  or  the  homely  duties  of  the  clergyman's 
wife  she  rejected,  it  was  simply  himself.  He  felt 
it  would  have  been  unmanly,  and  indeed  impossible 
to  have  urged  one  other  plea.  So  he  very  quietly 
wished  her  good-bye,  and  turned  back  to  the  lodge. 

"  You  will  come  to  the  house,"  she  said, "  my  fath- 
er and  mother  would  be  sorry  if  you  did  not  rest." 

"  Thank  you,  I  think  I  had  better  not." 

"I  shall  always  be  interested  to  hear  of  your 
work,"  she  said,  giving  him  her  hand.  He  took  it 
for  an  instant,  and  went  away. 

"  She  has  not  cared  enough  for  me,"  he  thought, 
"  for  me  even  to  have  been  a  cloud  on  her  path." 
But  he  never  thought  she  had  trifled  with  him ;  he 
never  lowered  the  thought  of  her  for  a  moment  in 
his  heart. 

Minna  meantime  returned  to  the  house,  and  that 


THE  WO'RLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  205 

evening  she  contemplated  herself  and  pitied  herself 
a  great  deal,  and  wrote  in  her  diary  (for  at  that 
time  she  had  been  keeping  a  diary  for  ten  days — a 
diary  with  a  golden  lock  and  key,  and  bound  in 
purple  velvet) :  "  I  am  capable  of  great  things.  I 
feel  it.  But  it  must  be  under  great  inspirations. 
A  life  of  self-sacrifice  would  be  like  my  native  ele- 
ment to  me.  I  should  breathe  for  the  first  time 
freely  in  it,  but  it  must  be  self-sacrifice  for  great 
ends,  in  a  noble  field.  Contact  with  what  is  low 
and  mean  and  morally  ugly  would  paralyze  me. 
There  must  either  be  the  inspiration  of  a  great  love 
or  a  great  object."  Having  performed  this  little 
act  of  inward  self-contemplation  to  her  satisfaction, 
Minna  closed  and  locked  her  diary,  and  entered  on 
another  phase  of  the  sacred  rites  of  her  shrine,  by 
ocularly  contemplating  herself  in  the  glass.  The 
luxuriant  waving  auburn  hair  was  floating  around 
her  white  throat — framing  the  brilliant  yet  deli- 
cately colored  face,  and  as  she  looked  into  the 
soft  depths  of  the  brown  eyes  which  met  her,  she 
concluded,  "It  was  very  unreasonable.  An  East 
London  parsonage  for  me !  To  knit  stockings,  I 
suppose,  for  oH  women  ;  and  on  Sundays  to  teach 
dirty  little  set-up  London  children,  who  call  each 
other  '  Miss,'  and  would  try  to  copy  my  bonnets  ; 
and  to  keep  accounts  of  clothing  societies,  details 
that  would  annihilate  me."  Minna's  "  great  ob- 
jects "  were  always  to  be  reached,  not  by  little  suc- 
cessive steps,  but  by  soaring  to  the  stars,  or  by  pre- 
cipitating ourself  into  chasms,  or  by  some  other 
mythological  process  equally  uncommon. 
18 


206  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

"  He  could  not  really  have  loved  me  to  think  of  it." 
He  could  surely  have  found  some  worthier  home, 
or  he  might  have  asked  me  to  choose  before  he  ac- 
cepted that  wretched  living !  No,  that  is  not 
what  I  call  love,"  concluded  Minna ;  "  I  am  ready 
to  sacrifice  anything,  but  then  it  must  be  for  one 
who  would  sacrifice  anything  for  me."  And  having 
thus  worked  herself  up  to  the  right  devotional 
point  of  self-admiration  and  self-pity,  she  laid  down 
the  censer  for  the  occasion,  and  concluded  the  ser- 
vice by  going  through,  in  a  formal  and  official  man- 
ner, those  other  antique  rights  to  that  Supreme  and 
Unapproachable  Essence  which  is  said  to  be  recog- 
nized in  most  idolatrous  systems  of  religion ;  al- 
though, since  nothing  is  expected  from  It,  conse- 
quently as  little  as  possible  is  rendered  to  It. 

Maurice  reached  his  despised  East  London  par- 
sonage that  evening.  In  the  morning  when  he  had 
set  out,  he  had  persuaded  himself  that  the  trees  in 
the  church-yard  gave  it  almost  a  cheerful  look,  that 
the  rooms  were  not  so  very  dingy  after  all,  but 
that  affection  might  make  them  bright  even  for  a 
creature  so  choice  as  Minna  Denison. 

In  the  evening  when  he  came  fcack,  the  old 
church-yard  trees  creaked  and  strained  like  trees 
already  half  stiffened  into  mere  timber,  as  if  they 
were  croaking,  "  We  sprang  from  graves  and  we  are 
fast  growing  into  coffins.  How  could  you  think  of 
bringing  any  bright  living  creature  under  our 
shadow  ?" 

And  within  the  house,  all  the  rooms  had  shrunk 
into  a  mere  place  to  eat  and  find  shelter  in.  There 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


207 


was  no  welcome  and  no  fire,  for  he  was  not  ex- 
pected ;  and  he  would  not  have  any  meal  prepared. 

He  sat  down  in  the  library  and  mechanically 
took  up  a  book  he  had  left  there  in  the  morning — 
a  volume  of  old  poems  which  he  had  once  lent 
Minna.  Beside  it  lay  a  heap  of  reports,  and  some 
notes  for  a  sermon.  Very  prosaic  everything  looked. 
And  he  did  not  wonder  at  Minna's  decision.  He 
only  wondered  at  his  own  presumption. 

How  dull,  and  mean,  and  characterless  the  oppo- 
site houses  and  the  narrow  street  looked  the  next 
morning ;  how  endless  and  sunless  the  work  that 
had  to  be  done.  The  sunshine  seemed  to  have 
passed  from  his  life — the  sun  to  have  shrunk  from  a 
radiant  "  strong  man  rejoicing  to  run  his  race,"  to  a 
round  red  ball,  to  light  up  the  world  of  counting- 
houses  and  committees. 

Only  "  seemed ;"  for  the  radiance  of  the  true 
Sun  of  Maurice's  life  was  no  transitory  halo.  It 
was  the  fog  obscuring  the  rays  which  was  transitory. 

But  he  had  to  learn  the  hard  lesson  of  discerning 
how  much  of  the  light  of  his  heart  and  life  had 
come  from  earth,  and  how  much  from  heaven ;  an 
analysis  not  t*  be  accomplished  by  any  instrument 
which  cannot  divide  asunder  the  joints  and  marrow ; 
never  by  any  instrument  except  in  divine  hands  • 
and  never  in  divine  hands  without  pain. 

Terribly  humbling  he  found  the  lesson.  In  the 
darkness,  the  tempter  does  not  fail  to  draw  near,  to 
insinuate  his  poisoned  arrows  of  doubt  into  the 
wounds  made  by  the  searching  arrows  of  the  Al- 
mighty. And  in  the  darkness  and  the  anguish  too 


208  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

often  with  frantic  hands  the  sufferer,  seeking  to 
staunch  the  wounds  which  are  to  cure,  only  rivets 
the  darts  which  are  destroying. 

Maurice's  doubts  were  all  about  himself.  He 
never  for  an  instant  doubted  Minna's  goodness  and 
truth.  "  If  he  had  thought  she  felt  anything  more 
than  an  ordinary  interest  in  him,  it  had  been  only  his 
wretched  vanity  misinterpreting  the  kindly  sympa- 
thy she  showered  on  all  alike.  If  he  had  thought 
her  purposes  high  enough  for  any  self-sacrifice  in  a 
noble  cause,  he  had  been  right.  Only  on  another 
level  than  his,  and  with  worthier  help.  She  was 
capable  of  sacrificing  anything,  but  not  for  him." 
He  did  not  suffer  a  shadow  to  dim  her  image  in  his 
inmost  heart.  "  She  was  gentle,  and  noble,  and 
lowly;  beautiful  and  sound  to  the  heart's  core. 
How  could  he  have  dreamt  of  her  loving  him  ? — 
one  so  weak  and  wavering  that  at  the  first  crossing 
of  his  foolish  hopes  and  dreams,  all  seemed  to  have 
become  unreal  to  him,  and  he  scarcely  dared  stand 
up  and  preach  to  the  people  Glad  Tidings  which 
had  so  little  power  to  make  him  glad." 

But  the  Gospel  was  true  !  He  had  no  doubt  of 
that,  however  little  share  he  had  in  it ;  God's  love 
was  true,  however  little  he  could  rejoice  in  it — it 
was  true  that  there  was  One  now  in  heaven  who 
had  lived  and  died  on  earth,  and  had  redeemed 
men,  however  little  that  redemption  had  set  him 
free ;  it  was  true  there  was  One  now  on  earth  ready 
to  abide  in  the  hearts  of  men,  Sanctifier  and  Com- 
forter, however  little  that  holy  Presence  had  conse- 
crated his  heart. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  209 

And  being  convinced  it  was  true,  and  that  men's 
souls  needed  this  truth,  he  decided  that  it  was  no 
hypocrisy  for  him  to  stand  up  and  preach  it ;  but  a 
duty,  whether  he  felt  it  or  not.  And  accordingly 
the  next  Sunday  he  stood  up  and  spoke  of  the  great 
facts  no  feelings  can  change,  the  great  miracles 
of  Divine  love  no  flight  of  ages  can  remove  to  a 
distance. 

And  those  who  listened  had  no  suspicion  that  the 
calm,  strong  words,  spoken  with  such  conviction, 
came  from  a  heart  that  could  itself  rise  to  no  ex- 
perience beyond,  "  Have  mercy  on  me."  For  that 
day  and  many  days  he  went  as  usual  on  his  errands 
of  mercy  to  the  sick  and  dying.  The  living  waters 
existed,  and  had  been  opened  ;  and  if  the  hand  that 
lifted  them  to  the  thirsty  lips  was  itself  parched 
with  fever,  still  the  draught  it  bore  was  life-giving 
and  pure,  and  from  time  to  time  refreshment 
flowed  back  to  his  own  heart  from  those  to  whom 
he  brought  it. 

But  the  conflict  was  long  and  bitter.  His  own 
conversion  to  God  had  been  simple  and  joyous,  like 
a  child  awakened  on  a  sunny  morning  by  a  mother's 
kiss,  like  the  spirit  of  the  damsel  called  with  a 
mother's  word  of  endearment,  a  "  Talitha  Cumi," 
to  open  her  eyes  on  the  Saviour's  face.  And  his 
life  had  been  bright.  His  tastes  were  high,  and 
Christianity  had  from  the  first  so  possessed  his 
heart  as  the  Beautiful  as  well  as  the  True,  that 
between  his  tastes  and  his  faith  there  had  been  no 
repulsion.  Outward  temptations  he  had  known, 
but  with  a  healthy  intellect,  and  a  health-giving 
18* 


210  WINIFRED  BERTRAM. 

because  joyful  religion,  he  had  known  little  of 
temptations  within. 

And  now,  in  this  hour  of  crushed  hopes,  they 
came  ;  fiery  darts  falling  thick,  and  striking  home. 
When  he  knew  them,  indeed,  he  had  a  shield  which 
could  ward  them  off.  When,  on  questionings  of  his 
own  honesty  and  worthiness,  followed  low,  bitter 
murmurs  about  the  goodness  and  truth  of  God, 
such  as,  "  Is  this  the  end  of  so  many  prayers  for 
guidance?  What  would  have  been  the  difference 
if  I  had  not  prayed  ?  "  he  was  at  no  loss  to  repel 
these.  "  God  is  good ;  and  prayer  is  a  reality."  But 
when  it  fell  back  to,  "  Are  thy  prayers  realities  ?  Is 
'goodness'  or  'severity'  the  due  of  one  whose 
fancied  heavenly  joys  all  fade  before  the  fading  of 
an  earthly  hope  ? "  he  did  not  always  recognize 
the  hand  which  threw  them,  but  bowed  over  the 
poisonous  shaft,  and  with  his  own  hand  often  fixed 
it  in. 

It  was  not  until  after  many  days  that  he  came 
out  of  the  battle  ;  and  then  it  was  with  a  sense  of 
weakness  and  deep  humiliation  rather  than  with  a 
sense  of  victory,  with  many  scars,  and  with  the 
pangs  of  some  wounds  scarcely  healed ;  but  with 
the  heavenly  armor  fitted  on  as  only  battles  fit  it ; 
with  a  conviction  of  the  existence  of  the  tempter, 
and  a  sympathy  with  the  tempted ;  with  a  faith  in 
the  victory  of  the  Saviour,  and  in  the  presence 
of  the  other  "  Comforter,"  such  as  he  had  scarcely 
known  before,  yet  which  is  sorely  needed  by  those 
who  have  to  be  leaders  as  well  as  soldiers  in  the 
fight. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


|UNT  KATHARINE  proposes  to  pay 
us  a  visit  next  week,"  said  Mrs.  O'Brien 
one  morning  at  that  daily  rendezvous 
with  distant  friends  which  the  Penny 
Post  establishes  at  many  breakfast  tables. 

Mrs.  O'Brien's  tone  was  a  little  ambiguous.  Lady 
Katharine  Wyse  was  one  of  the  people  who  reserve 
to  themselves  that  right  of  speaking  their  minds 
which  is  seldom  enjoyed  (however  it  may  be  appre- 
ciated) by  the  recipient  of  such  franknesses.  Her 
visits  had  therefore  been  regarded  by  her  niece 
rather  in  the  same  light  as  those  clear,  hard  frosts 
which  every  one  says  are  so  wholesome,  and  which 
every  one  appreciates  so  highly  when  they  are  over. 
Her  natural  enemies  were  all  "  shams,"  and  her 
natural  idol  was  "  effectiveness."  She  did  not  per- 
haps always  distinguish  correctly  between  incon- 
sistency and  insincerity,  or  recognize  the  danger 
of  the  epithets  "  hypocrite,"  "  fool,"  or  "  blind,"  or 
their  equivalents,  issuing  from  any  lips  but  those 
of  the  All-seeing  and  All-merciful. 
(211) 


212  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

Energetic,  warm-hearted,  accustomed  to  rule,  and 
to  rule  well,  she  had  no  tolerated  rummage  corner 
for  any  crotchets  either  of  her  own  or  of  other 
people's.  During  her  husband  Mr.  Wyse's  life  she 
had  reigned  by  deputy,  and  since  in  person.  Her 
two  sons  (she  could  not  think  why)  preferred  hav- 
ing their  own  establishments  at  some  little  distance 
from  the  ancestral  house  at  Combe  Monachorum, 
although  their  annual  visits  were  the  delight  of  the 
children  of  both  families,  as  well  as  of  the  old  ser- 
vants at  the  Abbey.  But  daughters-in-law  she 
acknowledged  were  "  proverbially  difficult  to  get 
on  with."  Her  eldest  son  was  persuaded  of  his 
mother's  wisdom  in  managing  the  estates,  and  pre- 
ferred a  residence  in  London,  and  maintaining  the 
relation  of  host  and  guest  with  his  mother  to  the 
complications  of  a  co-agency ;  displacing  Lady 
Katharine  from  the  throne  was  an  achievement 
not  to  be  contemplated.  Her  reign  had  now  ex- 
tended to  half  a  century,  from  the  day  when  she 
was  brought,  a  bride  of  seventeen,  under  triumphal 
arches  of  greenery  to  the  family  home  of  three 
hundred  years  of  the  Wyses.  From  that  time  she 
had  adopted  her  husband's  place  and  ancestry  as 
her  own.  The  Abbey  had  fallen  to  the  lot  of  the 
ancestors  of  the  Wyses  as  a  reward  for  naval  vic- 
tories over  the  Spaniards  in  the  days  of  the  Armada. 
She  taught  her  sons  that  the  titles  of  her  own  fam- 
ily, dating  from  a  party  political  struggle  in  one  of 
the  early  Brunswick  reigns,  were  of  small  account 
beside  the  untitled  dignities  of  the  Wyses,  which 
could  be  traced  back  to  the  grand  old  Elizabethan 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  21$ 

times.  One  of  Elizabeth's  esquires,  it  was  her 
theory,  was  beyond  all  comparison  nobler  than  any 
of  the  Georgian  nobility.  Prizes  won  in  the  race 
with  the  Sidneys,  and  Drakes,  and  Frobishers,  she 
said,  were  worth  twenty  peerages  dropping  from 
the  heavy  indiscriminating  hands  of  the  Hanover- 
ians. And  besides  that,  she  maintained  that  the 
Wyses  had  a  right  to  the  field  on  which  they  won 
their  spurs  before  Hanoverians,  or  Tudors,  or  Plan- 
tagenets,  appeared  above  the  horizon.  The  Maiden 
Queen  had  indeed  apportioned  to  them  the  forfeited 
lands  of  the  monks  ;  but  before  a  Benedictine  had 
come  with  cowl  and  vows  and  Gregorian  tones  to 
claim  the  broad  meadows  of  Combe  Monachorum 
for  the  Church,  the  Wyses  had  held  their  own  at 
the  old  manor  of  Combe  Regis  at  the  head  of  the 
same  valley.  Lady  Katharine  inspired  the  loyalty 
of  her  sons  by  more  than  one  royal  name.  Eliza- 
beth had  given  the  baronetcy,  which  had  after- 
wards lapsed  ;  but  she  loved  to  trace  the  fortunes 
of  the  Wyses  to  Alfred,  the  darling  of  his  people, 
to  whom  she  considered,  if  to  any  monarch  or  saint 
in  England,  a  national  holiday  ought  to  have  been 
dedicated;  Combe  Regis  having  been,  tradition 
said,  one  of  his  royal  villas,  given  by  him  to  an 
ancestor  of  the  Wyses  for  services  against  the 
Danes. 

The  fifty  years  of  Lady  Katharine's  sway  had 
witnessed  many  changes  in  the  neighborhood.  She 
had  seen  the  rise  and  progress,  she  averred,  of  a 
whole  crop  of  new  families,  and  of  at  least  two 
schools  of  opinion  in  the  church.  It  was  astonish- 


214  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

ing,  she  said,  at  what  a  variety  of  comparative  eccle- 
siastical levels  she  had  found  herself  by  the  simple 
process  of  standing  still. 

Lady  Katharine's  proposals  were  as  imperative 
in  the  family  as  any  royal  invitations,  and  on  the 
next  week  accordingly  she  arrived  at  the  Cedars. 
She  was  not  noisy,  nor  fussy,  nor  demonstrative, 
but  her  presence  was  always  rather  like  that  of  a 
wind.  Nothing  stagnated  around  her.  Nothing 
could  lie  safely  in  corners,  sure  of  being  let  alone. 
Nothing  could  hide  itself  hazily  in  mists  without 
giving  an  account  of  itself.  She  had  a  faculty  of 
making  people  find  out  what  they  meant  and  what 
they  did  not  mean  ;  and  if  they  did  not  mean  any- 
thing, of  finding  out  that,  which  is  almost  as  impor- 
tant a  discovery.  To  her  earth  was  earth,  and  sky 
was  sky,  and  clouds  were  clouds,  namely,  "  water 
in  the  form  of  vapor,"  which  either  had  to  descend 
in  rain,  or  to  diffuse  itself  and  disappear,  or,  at  the 
worst,  to  manifest  itself  as  fog;  but  was  by  no 
means  to  confuse  people  into  the  idea  it  was  either 
an  earthly  mountain  or  a  heavenly  city.  To  Mrs. 
O'Brien,  who  had  spent  so  much  of  her  life  in 
cloudland  hitherto,  three  very  unpleasant  alterna- 
tions. Now,  however,  that  she  desired  to  become 
a  dweller  on  the  common  earth,  the  chasm  between 
herself  and  Lady  Katharine  seemed  far  less  impass- 
able. 

On  the  evening  of  Lady  Katharine's  arrival, 
there  was  a  dinner-party,  at  which  were  present 
"Winnie's  old  perplexity,  Mr.  Yernon,  and  Mr.  Wei- 
don,  the  curate  of  the  parish. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  Zi$ 

The  conversation  before  dinner  fell  on  the  sub- 
ject of  sermons.  Mr.  Yernon  was  of  opinion  that 
the  clergy  were  in  general  a  very  harmless  and 
well-disposed  body  of  men,  and  only  became  dan- 
gerous for  an  hour  or  two  on  Sundays  in  the  pulpit. 
He  thought  it  would  be  a  final  remedy  for  all  our 
ecclesiastical  difficulties  if  sermons  were  abolished 
altogether,  or  at  all  events  if  the  congregation  gen- 
erally dispersed  after  the  prayers,  and  left  the 
clergyman  to  deliver  a  confidential  oration  to  such 
of  his  parishioners  as  had  a  taste  for  that  rather 
obsolete  pastime. 

Mr.  Weldon  thought  that  it  was  a  sign  of  the 
decided  progress  of  Catholic  feeling  that  preaching 
was  being  dethroned  from  the  pre-eminence  which 
the  Reformation  had  given  it,  and  was  being  sub- 
ordinated to  the  higher  sacerdotal  functions  of  the 
clergy.  An  ominous  smile,  boding  mischief,  might 
have  been  seen  in  Lady  Katharine's  face ;  but  she 
did  not  enter  the  lists,  and  there  the  matter  might 
have  dropped  had  it  not  been  Mr.  Weldon's  fate  to 
be  her  neighbor  at  dinner,  and  his  misfortune  to 
believe  that  he  had  to  entertain  a  dignified  and 
mildly-disposed  elderly  lady. 

"  It  is  rather  a  remarkable  symptom  of  the  times," 
he  began,  "  to  see  men  of  such  variety  of  character 
agreeing  in  the  opinion  Mr.  Vernon  expressed." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?"  she  said.  "  It  seems  to  me, 
from  my  limited  observation,  that  there  always  are 
a  certain  number  of  opinions  which  people  in  gene- 
ral agree  in,  that  is,  people  belonging  to  the  same 
set  and  the  same  generation.  The  remarkable  thing 


2i 6  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

is  when  any  one  does  not  agree  with  them.  Yet  it 
really  does  not  need  much  courage  to  differ,  at  least 
not  any  very  continued  exercise  of  courage.  In 
about  twenty  years  the  tide  turns ;  and  then  you 
find  the  same  remarkable  unanimity  of  opinion  on 
the  other  side." 

"  You  do  not  agree  with  Mr.  Vernon,  then,"  was 
the  rejoinder. 

"  Not  agree  with  Mr.  Vernon  in  thinking  sermons 
tiresome  ?"  she  said.  "  I  cannot  say  I  have  been 
entirely  without  experience  of  the  kind.  But  in 
general  we  do  not  confide  these  little  difficulties  to 
the  clergy.  They  might  think  it  discourteous.  My 
difference  with  Mr.  Vernon  is  not  so  much  as  to  the 
fact  as  to  the  remedy." 

Mr.  Weldon  began  to  have  an  uneasy  feeling 
that  he  had  lighted  on  a  dangerous  character,  pos- 
sibly some  relic  of  antique  Puritanism. 

At  length  he  said  mildly  : 

"There  can  surely  be  little  doubt  as  to  the 
remedy,  can  there  ?  The  country  seems  awaken- 
ing to  it  in  all  directions.  In  almost  every  parish 
you  see  restored  churches  where  the  huge  pulpit 
has  been  broken  up,  and  replaced  by  a  modest 
reading-stand,  leaving  the  aisle  clear  to  the  altar. 
The  change  is  typical,  is  it  not  ?  People  are  begin- 
ning to  understand  that  we  do  not  meet  to  listen  to 
a  preacher,  but  to  worship  God." 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Lady  Katharine,  "  I  think  we 
go  to  church  for  two  purposes  :  to  adore,  and  to  be 
taught.  The  Liturgy  and  the  Lessons  are  no  sub- 
stitute, it  seems  to  me,  for  a  bad  sermon,  although 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  217 

they  may  be  an  antidote.  The  only  remedy  for 
bad  preaching,  it  seems  to  me,  is  to  make  it  better. 
The  church  ought  to  be  not  only  a  temple  of  wor- 
ship but  a  school  of  divine  instruction.  To  the 
educated  it  may  matter  comparatively  little,  but  to 
the  uneducated  it  appears  to  me  sermons  are  and 
ought  to  be  the  most  effective  teaching  they  have. 
I  can  conceive  of  no  nobler  sphere  of  influence 
than  the  pulpit  ought  to  be.  To  stand  up  for  an 
hour,  or  half  an  hour  (I  confess  I  think  half  an 
hour  is  better),  and  speak  to  .some  hundreds  of 
people,  who  must  listen  whether  they  like  it  or  not, 
of  all  it  most  concerns  them  to  hear  about ;  to 
pierce  people's  disguises  and  excuses,  with  plain, 
faithful  words  about  God  and  right  and  wrong — 
with  such  histories  as  the  Bible  gives  you,  and 
such  promises,  and  such  precepts  to  unfold ;  the 
calling  seems  to  me  the  grandest  on  earth  !  And  I 
cannot  bear  to  hear  it  undervalued.  The  people 
never  do  undervalue  it,"  she  concluded ;  "  and  if 
they  have  cold,  neat,  little  essays  in  church,  they 
go  to  the  Wesleyans,  or  the  Baptists,  or  anywhere 
where  they  can  find  what  they  think  stirs  them  up 
and  helps  them,  6r  teaches  them,  and  leave  the 
aisle  to  your  beautiful  new  altar  very  open  and 
untrodden  indeed." 

"No  doubt,"  said  Mr.  Weldon ;  "the  natural 
result,  you  must  allow  me  to  say,  of  the  system 
they  have  been  trained  in.  They  have  been  taught 
to  consider  preaching  everything,  and  to  consider 
the  test  of  preaching  not  its  power  to  calm,  but  to 
excite.  And  if  they  do  not  find  stimulants  excit- 
19 


218  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

ing  enough  at  church,  they  go  to  schismatics  to 
obtain  them.  The  calming  influences  which  this 
restless  age  needs,  are  precisely  what  it  despises. 
And  as  the  novelty  of  each  fresh  stimulant  is  ex- 
hausted, the  congregation  splits  to  seek  a  stronger." 

"  I  must  admit,"  said  Lady  Katharine,  "  our  con_ 
gregations  are  certainly  too  respectable  to  split. 
They  certainly  disappear.  But  whether  this  pro- 
cess says  more  for  our  cohesive  force  I  scarcely 
know.  Solid  bodies  split  with  an  explosion,  liquid 
substances  trickle,  away  with  a  murmur,  fluids 
evaporate  without  rany  disturbance  at  all.  Our 
congregations  in  city  and  country  occasionally  seem 
to  be  subject  to  the  last  mode  of  dispersion.  The 
lower  classes,  who  are  apt,  you  know,  to  generalize 
rather  roughly  seem  to  require  something  positive 
to  be  done  either  for  them  or  to  them,  when  they 
go  to  church.  The  Roman  Catholics  persuade  the 
congregations  that  something  very  positive  is  done 
for  them  in  the  Sacrifice  of  the  Mass  and  the  inter- 
cession of  the  priest.  And  you  will  find  plenty  of 
poor  people  in  their  churches.  There  are,  on  the 
other  hand,  some  sermons  which  uneducated  people 
consider  do  a  great  deal  of  good  to  them.  They 
feel  rebuked,  consoled,  cheered,  instructed,  their 
hearts  warmed,  their  minds,  as  they  think,  enlight- 
ened. They  call  what  does  this  the  Gospel ;  and 
where  this  is  to  be  found,  you  will  find  again 
crowds  of  the  poor.  I  think  these  facts  worth  con- 
sidering. And  I  believe  all  parties  are  beginning 
to  consider  them  more  and  more." 

"  Extremes  always  attract  the  masses,"  said  Mr. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


219 


Weldon.  "  Are  they  not  always  wavering  between 
the  counter-excitements  of  '  spectacles '  and  dema- 
gogues ?" 

Lady  Katharine's  eye  kindled. 

"In  the  New  Testament,"  she  said  in  a  low 
voice,  "  the  words  '  common  people '  and  c  multi- 
tude '  are  used  instead  of  '  mobs '  or  '  masses.'  And 
it  is  said  '  He  had  compassion  on  the  multitudes,' 
and  the  *  common  people  heard  him  gladly.' " 
After  which  remark,  and  a  brief  pause,  Lady 
Katharine  and  the  curate  gradually  glided  into 
deeper  and  calmer  waters. 

The  next  morning  at  breakfast  Lady  Katharine 
said  penitently  to  Mr.  O'Brien : 

"  Cecil,  my  dear,  I  am  afraid  I  was  very  fierce 
with  Mr.  Weldon  yesterday.  I  am  naturally 
tempted  to  be  savage  with  young  curates.  Suffer- 
ings do  make  people  savage,  unless  they  are  great 
saints ;  and  we  have  suffered  at  Combe.  The  rec- 
tor, you  know,  is  old,  and  there  has  been  a  constant 
succession  of  curates  getting  *  titles '  out  of  our 
unhappy  congregation.  There  was  one  whose 
father  was  a  good  man  I  have  a  great  respect  for, 
a  small  shopkeeper  and  a  Dissenter  in  our  county 
town,  who  tried  my  good  manners  extremely  by 
knowing  no  human  being  intimately  out  of  the 
peerage,  and  no  sections  of  Christians  below  the 
level  of  the  highest  and  latest  Anglicanism.  Then 
there  was  a  prophet  who  considered  that  the  one 
great  embodiment  of  sin  was  the  Church  of  Rome, 
which  he  denounced  in  terms  which  (as  there  have 


220  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

been  no  papists  for  three  centuries  in  our  parish) 
seemed  to  the  farmers  very  correct,  no  doubt,  as  to 
doctrine,  but  not  sufficiently  practical  as  regarded 
sheep-stealers  and  other  practical  sinners  of  the 
parish,  and  also  rather  strong  language  for  the 
young  people  to  hear.  Then,  afterwards  we  had 
two  or  three  useful,  humble-minded  men,  who  were 
called  off  very  soon  to  larger  spheres.  And  lately 
a  young  philosopher  of  a  very  advanced  school  has 
been  informing  us  that  the  Bible  in  general,  al- 
though as  a  collection  of  interesting  documents  of 
high  authority,  and  an  expression  of  the  devout 
aspirations  of  all  ages,  undoubtedly  much  to  be 
respected,  is  nevertheless  full  of  the  most  obvious 
mistakes  and  misstatements  from  beginning  to  end  ; 
although  I  am  happy  to  say  his  language  also  is  so 
'  advanced '  and  indefinite  that  I  do  not  think  any 
one  in  the  church  understood  more  from  his  ser- 
mons than  that  he  is  a  very  clever  young  gentle- 
man, who,  on  the  shoulders  of  certain  wise  men  on 
the  Continent,  has  climbed  far  above  the  heads  of 
all  the  people  whom,  in  old  days,  we  used  to  be 
taught  to  look  up  to.  And  the  worst  of  it  is,  that 
each  one  of  these  young  people  has  not  an  idea 
that  there  is  an  opinion  any  intelligent  man  can 
hold  for  an  instant  except  his  own.  My  only  com- 
fort is,  that  sometimes  after  a  few  years  I  have 
found  these  very  men  softened  and  smoothed  into 
sober-minded  vicars,  with  nothing  at  all  particular  in 
their  opinions ;  and  that  in  the  cottages,  where  they 
come  into  contact  with  the  troubled,  and  sick,  and 
dying,  I  have  found  that  frequently  these  peculiar 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  22l 

opinions  have  dropped  off  from  them  like  an  out- 
side cloak,  and  they  have  taken  refuge  in  a  few 
very  simple  truths  and  facts  out  of  the  old  Bible. 
However,  the  curates  and  I  have  had  so  many  com- 
bats that  I  know  I  am  not  safe  with  the  species.  I 
have  no  doubt  they  think  me  a  very  positive  and 
bigoted  old  woman ;  yet  I  flatter  myself  we  have 
done  each  other  a  little  good  now  and  then,  and  we 
generally  part  better  friends  than  we  meet." 

Winifred  had  been  gazing  with  wide-open,  earn- 
est eyes  at  Lady  Katharine  while  she  was  speaking, 
and  after  breakfast  she  crept  to  her  side  and  whis-- 
pered  softly : 

"Please,  Aunt  Katharine,  don't  be  fierce  with 
Mr.  Leigh.  He  is  coming  to-day  with  Grace,  and 
he  is  very  gentle,  and  rather  timid,  I  think." 

"  Who  is  Mr.  Leigh,  my  pet  ?" 

"  Mr.  Leigh  is  Grace's  father,  and  Grace  is  my 
friend,  Aunt  Katharine ;  and  he  is  a  curate,  but  I 
don't  think  he  can  help  it.  And  he  is  not  young, 
Aunt  Katharine  ;  his  hair  is  gray." 

"  A  gray-haired  curate  is  a  very  different  phe- 
nomenon, Winnie,"  she  said,  laughing,  "  from  any 
of  my  foes.  I  promise  you  I  will  not  be  at  all 
fierce,  but  be  on  my  best  behavior.  He  must  be  a 
very  sensible  man,  moreover,  to  have  called  his 
little  girl  Grace,  instead  of  Etheldreda  or  Rade- 
gunda,  or  some  of  the  various  names  which  are 
being  disinterred  from  the  calendars  in  these  days 
to  perplex  old-fashioned  people  like  me.  I  will  be 
as  civil  as  I  can  to  Mr.  Leigh,  Winnie,  I  assure  you, 
and  to  little  Grace  also." 
19* 


222  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

Winifred  was  relieved.  And  in  another  hour 
she  saw  Mr.  Leigh's  tall,  stooping  figure  moving 
slowly  up  the  pathway  across  the  lawn,  conducted 
by  Maurice,  while  little  Grace  was  lingering  a  little 
behind,  looking  round  at  the  view.  Winnie  was  at 
her  side  in  an  instant,  and  leading  her  by  the  hand 
to  introduce  her  to  Mrs.  O'Brien. 

Winnie,  in  her  eagerness  to  make  the  most  of 
her  friend,  was  far  more  confused  and  shy  than 
Grace,  who,  after  quietly  looking  up  and  meeting 
Mrs.  O'Brien's  gentle  kind  eyes,  seemed  to  feel 
quite  at  home.  There  was  something  in  the  soft 
voices,  the  easy  unaffected  manners,  and  the  gen- 
eral tone  of  things  around  her,  in  which  little  Grace 
seemed  to  float  into  her  element  at  once.  And 
Lady  Katharine's  reception  of  Mr.  Leigh  was  in 
Winifred's  opinion  unexceptionable.  She  received 
him  with  a  kind  of  gentle  deference,  as  she  might 
a  prince  in  exile;  like  some  one  she  had  heard 
often  about  and  had  wished  to  know.  She  spoke 
to  him  of  his  Grace  and  of  her  little  niece,  and  in 
a  few  minutes  established  countless  fine  little  links 
between  them,  and  shed  a  kindly  sunshine  around 
her,  which  quietly  divested  Mr.  Leigh  of  his  cloak 
of  shyness,  and  made  him  expand  into  a  freedom 
of  intercourse  he  had  known  little  of  since  his  old 
college  days. 

Meantime  Grace,  considering  her  father  in  good 
keeping,  was  conducted  by  Winnie  through  all  her 
treasures,  her  books,  her  photographs,  her  garden  ; 
Grace  admiring,  and  Winnie  perplexing  her  gener- 
ous little  heart  to  devise  by  what  means  she  might 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  223 

transfer  the  greater  portion  of  her  possessions  to 
her  friend,  without  taking  the  position  of  a  benefac- 
tress and  seeming  to  assume  that  Grace's  home 
was  deficient  in  anything. 

But  either  Winnie  was  a  poor  diplomatist,  or 
Grace  was  very  impenetrable,  for  not  one  natural 
opening  could  be  found  through  which  to  insert  a 
present.  At  length,  as  usual  with  her,  Winnie 
abandoned  finesse,  and  rushed  at  her  point. 

"  Please,  Grace,  will  you  choose  ?  I  can't  think 
what  you  would  like  best,  and  I  should  like  you  to 
take  everything.  I  have  no  paintings  of  my  own, 
you  know,  like  the  one  you  gave  me.  But  won't 
you  tell  me  which  of  these  photographs  or  books 
you  like?  They  are  quite  my  very  own;  and  I 
should  be  so  much  obliged  if  you  would  take  them 
for  your  very  own." 

Grace  looked  perplexed.  Possession  was  alto- 
gether a  new  light  for  her  to  contemplate  things  in. 

"  How  kind  you  are,"  she  said.  "  But  I  really  do 
not  want  anything.  It  is  such  a  pleasure  to  see  the 
things.  I  never  think  of  having  things.  When  one 
looks  at  things,  really  beautiful  things  I  mean,  one 
does  seem  to  have  them  for  one's  very  own.  When 
I  shut  my  eyes  to-night  I  shall  see  all  this  lovely 
garden,  and  the  woods,  and  the  water,  and  the 
beautiful  blue  distant  hills  again,  and  the  pictures, 
just  as  I  shall  see  you ;  and  I  do  not  think  they 
would  be  more  like  my  own  for  having  them  at 
home.  I  am  so  much  obliged !  But  you  know  we 
have  not  very  much  room ;  and  Mrs.  Treherne  is 
sometimes  a  little  particular  about  there  being 
'  heaps  of  things  about,  as  sTie  says." 


224  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

"But  things  are  not  your  own,  by  looking  at 
them,"  rejoined  Winnie ;  not  quite  sure  whether 
Grace  was  talking  what  Maurice  called  metaphy- 
sics, or  whether  she  had  confused  notions  of  property. 
'•  You  cannot  look  at  them  again  whenever  you  like. 

"  But,"  said  Grace,  "  one  cannot  have  everything 
to  look  at  again  whenever  one  likes.  So  I  like  al- 
ways to  look  well  at  things,  and  have  them  for  one's 
own  in  that  way.  Just  as  the  stars,  and  the  sun  and 
the  moon,  and  the  rivers  and  the  trees,  are  one's 
own,  or  any  person  one  loves." 

Winnie  was  not  convinced. 

"  The  moon  is  one  thing,"  she  replied  in  plain 
Anglo-Saxon,  "  and  a  photographic  album  is  an- 
other. Of  course  no  one  can  have  the  moon ;  but  I 
should  think  it  so  kind,  Grace,  if  you  would  take 
my  album.  Please  do.  I  always  manage  things  in 
such  a  blundering  way,"  she  concluded.  "  Rosalie 
«ays  I  do." 

And  to  pacify  her  friend,  Grace  accepted  two 
photographs  from  Ary  Scheffer,  and  having  accepted 
them,  tasted  the  delight  of  possession  at  once,  and 
cheered  Winnie's  heart  by  saying  : 

"  They  will  look  lovely  on  the  chimneypiece  by 
Canova's  Night  and  Morning.  I  am  so  little  used 
to  having  things,"  she  added,  coloring  a  little. 
"  Father  not  being  very  rich,  and  Mrs.  Treherne 
being  particular.  And  whenever  one  begins,  you 
know  one  must  stop  somewhere,  even  if  one  were 
the  Queen.  I  mean  one  must  stop  having,  and  one 
might  always  go  on  wishing  ;  so  perhaps  it  is  just 
as  well  to  stop  wishing  at  the  beginning  as  after- 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  225 

wards.  And  don't  you  think,"  she  concluded, 
"  that  looking  will  be  the  way  we  shall  have  things 
in  heaven  ? — looking  and  loving  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  said  Winnie  softly. 

"  I  mean  that  in  heaven  of  course  everything  will 
be  God's  really.  We  shall  not  have  our  little  bits 
of  property  shut  up  in  houses  there,  and  yet  it  will 
be  all  really  ours  too,  more  than  anything  can  be  on 
earth ;  because  we  shall  always  be  able  to  look  at 
all  the  glorious  things,  and  because  He  is  our 
Father,  and  heaven  is  our  Father's  house  ;  and  look- 
ing and  loving  does  seem  the  most  like  heaven,  and 
the  best  way  really  to  have  things  even  now." 

"  But  we  are  not  in  heaven,  and  here  people  really 
want  many  things,"  said  Winnie,  meditatively. 
"  It  would  not  have  made  little  Fan  less  hungry, 
you  know,  to  look  at  a  loaf  of  bread,  would  it  ? 
Rather  more  I  think.  And,  oh,  Grace,"  she  con- 
tinued,'" are  you  really  going  to  teach  little  Fan  to 
sew  ?" 

Which  led  to  a  long  conversation,  where  Winnie, 
not  being  a  person  of  mystical  tendencies,  felt  more 
at  home  than  in  any  theories  of  possessing  the 
world  "  by  right  of  eye." 

It  was  a  long  happy  day.  There  were  games  on 
the  lawn,  in  which  it  was  Winnie's  delight  to 
initiate  Grace  and  Mr.  Leigh ;  and  at  Winnie's  es- 
pecial request,  there  was  early  tea  in  the  rock 
garden. 

And  there  were  strollings  about  the  garden,  and 
confidential  conversations,  in  which  Mrs.  O'Brien 


226  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

and  Lady  Katharine  made  little  Grace's  acquaint- 
ance. 

Mrs.  O'Brien  was  strangely  attracted  by  the 
gentle  child,  and  took  her  to  show  her  the  new  fern- 
ery, with  delicate  tropical  ferns  growing  around  a 
fountain  springing  from  a  basin  of  Majolica  china, 
which  made  the  delicate  fronds  tremble  and  sparkle 
in  its  spray,  with  which  Grace  was  enchanted,  con- 
sidering it  like  fairy  land.  In  the  course  of  con- 
versation Grace  happened  to  mention  the  name  of 
Mrs.  Treherne,  which  recalled  to  Mrs.  O'Brien  Mrs. 
Dee's  book  of  classified  human  beings.  "  Did  you 
ever  happen  to  hear  Mrs.  Treherne  or  any  one 
speak  of  a  lady  called  Mrs.  Dee  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  often,"  said  Grace,  smiling  a  little. 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"  She  said  Mrs.  Dee  should  never  set  foot  in  her 
house  again,"  replied  Grace  ;  "  but  perhaps  I  ought 
not  to  have  told.  Mrs.  Treherne  sometimes  says 
more  than,  she  quite  means.  And  she  is  not  very 
fond  of  advice,  I  think,  and  she  thought  Mrs.  Dee 
gave  her  a  great  deal  of  advice,  and  had  no  right." 

"  Then  there  were  two  Miss  Lovels  ?" 

Grace  was  silent. 

"  They  did  not  like  being  visited  ?" 

"Miss  Lavinia  thought  it  was  kindly  meant," 
said  Grace,  "but  Miss  Betsy  said  an  impertinent 
person  had  called  one  day  without  an  introduction 
or  anything  to  say." 

"  Mrs.  Dee  spoke  also  of  a  Mrs.  Anderson,  a 
Scotchwoman,  I  think,  who  had  lost  two  children." 

Grace  colored  a  little. 


THE    WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


227 


"  I  am  sure  Mrs.  Dee  could  not  have  meant  it, 
but  something  she  said  once  pained  Mrs.  Anderson. 
I  went  into  her  little  parlor  one  afternoon  and 
found  her  crying  bitterly.  She  very  seldom  shows 
what  she  feels.  But  she  was  quite  sobbing  then, 
and  she  said,  'O  Miss  Grace,  the  lady  said,  the 
house  ought  to  be  a  model  of  neatness,  with  no 
children  to  put  things  out  of  order ! — no  children  ! 
— no  bairns ! — none  indeed  in  the  house  to  make 
stir  or  life  in  it  now  !  ISTo  Alick  or  Maggie  now  !' 
And  Mrs.  Anderson  could  not  say  any  more,  her  voice 
was  so  choked  because  of  her  little  son  and  daughter 
who  died.  And  I  could  not  think  what  to  say  to 
comfort  her ;  sometimes  things  you  mean  to  com- 
fort seem  only  to  make  the  pain  worse,  when  it  is 
very  bitter.  So  I  could  do  nothing  but  sit  down 
and  cry  too.  And  then  after  a  few  minutes  Mrs. 
Anderson  became  quiet,  and  the  sobs  stopped,  and 
she  looked  up  and  said,  'I  gave  them  up  to  the 
Lord  years  ago,  Miss  Grace.  And  I  give  them  up 
now.  The  Lord  knows  that  tears  are  not  murmurs, 
and  pain  is  not  sin.  He  knows.'  And  before  I  went 
away  she  told  me  not  to  think  harshly  of  Mrs.  Dee, 
for  she  was  a  benevolent  lady  and  meant  well,  and 
if  there  were  some  wounds  that  would  burst  out 
with  the  old  anguish  whenever  they're  touched,  it 
was  not  to  be  expected  a  stranger  would  know  that." 

"  Mrs.  Anderson  was  not  angry  then  with  Mrs. 
Dee?" 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Grace.  "  She  said  she  was  no 
more  to  be  blamed  than  a  person  in  the  street  who 
seized  you  by  a  broken  arm,  to  push  you  out  of  the 


228  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

way  of  something  he  thought  might  hurt  you. 
How  could  he  know  it  would  pain  you  ?" 

"  The  best  way  is  never  to  seize  people  roughly, 
I  think,"  said  Mrs.  O'Brien.  "  But  when  one  thinks 
what  storms  every  one  may  have  had,  it  does  seem 
a  great  risk  to  plunge  in  on  them  in  that  indiscrimi- 
nate kind  of  way.  I  am  afraid  Mrs.  Dee  must  have 
left  a  great  many  people  rather  out  of  temper." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Grace.  "  Mrs.  Anderson 
told  me  afterwards  of  some  very  kind  things  she 
did.  There  were  two  or  three  men  whom  she  took 
great  trouble  to  get  into  work,  and  succeeded. 
And  there  was  one  family  of  orphans  whom  she 
provided  for  in  various  asylums.  And  several  peo- 
ple she  stirred  up  to  sending  their  children  to  school, 
paying  for  some  of  the  poorest.  And  others  she 
got  to  understand  the  good  of  fresh  air  and  cleanli- 
ness, and  made  their  homes  quite  a  different  thing. 
Mrs.  Anderson  thought  she  did  many  good  things 
for  the  people.  She  said  she  thinks  God  never  lets 
any  one  try  to  help  others  without  doing  some 
good." 

"  Then  some  of  the  people  were  grateful  to  Mrs. 
Dee?" 

"  I  am  not  quite  sure  of  that,"  said  Grace,  color- 
ing. "Perhaps  they  ought.  But  I  heard  father 
and  Mr.  Treherne  once  talking  about  it.  Father 
said  that  Mrs.  Dee  was  an  excellent  woman,  and 
people  ought  to  be  grateful  to  ladies  coming  down 
out  of  their  way  from  their  comfortable  homes  to 
lift  poor  fallen  people  out  of  misery.  But  Mr.  Tre- 
herne said  the  poor  law  was  an  excellent  institution, 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  229 

and  a  steam  crane  was  an  excellent  thing  to  lift 
things  out  of  a  ship,  but  no  one  ever  thought  of 
being  grateful  to  the  poor  law  or  to  a  steam  crane ; 
and  he  thought  it  was  not  so  much  the  things  done 
for  people,  as  the  heart  it  was  done  with  that  made 
people  grateful." 

"Mr.  Treherne  must  be  a  remarkably  sensible 
man  for  a  greengrocer,"  said  Mrs.  O'Brien. 

Grace  was  perplexed.  It  had  never  occurred  to 
her  that  intellect  was  to  be  classified  according  to 
trade,  and  she  did  not  know  what  to  say. 

"I  understand,"  said  Mrs.  O'Brien,  "they  feel 
people  like  Mrs.  Dee  like  a  kind  of  embodied  soci- 
ety; a  sort  of  charity-machine.  They  are  helped, 
but  the  heart  is  not  cheered  and  comforted.  But 
how  is  that  to  be  done  ?  You  seem  to  know  a  great 
deal  of  the  poor.  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  what 
you  do  when  you  visit  the  poor.  Mrs.  Dee  asked 
me  to  take  her  district,  but  I  do  not  know  how." 

Grace  looked  up  in  wonder. 

"  I  am  sure  I  cannot  tell  you  anything,  Mrs. 
O'Brien,"  she  said.  "  I  do  know  a  good  many  peo- 
ple who  are  poor,  but  I  never  thought  of  them  so 
much  as  '  the  poor,'  as  of  people  that  had  been  given 
me  to  know  and  love,  and  who  happen  to  be  poor 
and  in  trouble,  which,  of  course,  makes  one  love 
them  all  the  more.  They  are  the  parents  of  my 
school-children,  and  blind  Jenny,  and  a  few  besides. 
I  go  to  see  them  just  as  I  do  the  Miss  Lovels,  to 
read  to  them,  or  talk  to  them,  or  to  listen,  or  to  do 
anything  they  seem  to  want.  They  are  my  friends, 
you  know,  Mrs.  O'Brien,  so  it  is  quite  easy.  I  do 
20 


230  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  ANfi 

not  see  how  I  ever  could  help  and  comfort  any  un- 
less they  were  my  friends,  unless  I  cared  about 
them,  and  they  cared  about  me.  I  am  afraid  I  do 
not  know  anything  about  visiting  the  poor.  But  I 
am  only  a  child,"  concluded  Grace  apologetically. 

"  But  how  am  I  to  make  friends  among  the  poor, 
my  child  ?"  said  Mrs.  O'Brien.  "  Tell  me  your  secret.'* 

"  I  am  sure  I  cannot  tell,"  said  Grace ;  and  then 
she  added  musingly,  "  I  think  friends  come  one  by 
one,  Mrs.  O'Brien,  not  in  a  district,  all  at  once,  do 
they  ?  If  you  could  begin  with  one,  you  might  go 
on,  mightn't  you?"  "And,"  she  added,  smiling 
suddenly,  as  if  a  bright  thought  had  struck  her, 
"  you  have  one  friend  in  Mrs.  Dee's  own  district. 
There  is  little  Fan  who  has  come  to  be  Mrs.  Tre- 
herne's  little  maid.  She  says  you  are  the  kindest 
and  sweetest  spoken  lady  she  ever  saw,  and  were 
so  kind  to  her  and  Dan.  She  and  Dan  think  there's 
no  one  in  the  world  so  good  as  you  and  Miss  Wini- 
fred and  Mr.  Bertram.  She  says  you  not  only  gave 
them  all  they  wanted,  but  you  took  Dan's  hand  as 
he  lay  in  the  bed  at  the  hospital  and  stroked  it  like 
their  mother  used,  and  smoothed  his  pillow.  And 
she  says  she  saw  great  tears  in  your  eyes  the  first 
time  you  saw  him.  She  knows  you  feel  in  your 
heart  for  Dan,  little  Fan  says.  O  Mrs.  O'Brien," 
concluded  Grace,  "  you  have  one  friend  to  begin 
with.  You  have  won  little  Fan's  heart.  Oh,  do 
take  Mrs.  Dee's  district." 

Great  tears  started  to  Mrs.  O'Brien's  eyes  then, 
and  she  said  little  more.  She  only  took  Grace's 
two  hands  in  hers  and  murmured : 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


231 


"  Perhaps  it  is  not  too  late  to  begin,  even  for  me, 
Grace.  I  began  to  be  afraid  it  was." 

Lady  Katharine's  tete-a-tete  with  Grace  was 
briefer.  Little  Grace  was  standing  in  the  Rock 
Garden  watching  the  fountain  with  the  water- 
lilies,  in  a  perfect  trance  of  pleasure. 

"  You  seem  to  admire  this  place  very  much,  my 
child,"  she  said.  "What  were  you  thinking  of?" 

"  I  was  thinking  of  Paradise  Lost,"  said  Grace, 
coloring  a  little,  for  she  felt  a  little  instinctive  sense 
that  Lady  Katharine  would  not  quite  understand, 
yet  she  was  too  honest  not  to  give  a  direct  answer — 
"  and  the  garden  there." 

"  That  shows  how  much  Milton  was  right  in  say- 
ing 'the  mind  is  its  own  place,'  Grace,"  replied 
Lady  Katharine.  "  Now  while  you  were  having  such 
beautiful  thoughts,  I  was  thinking  that  I  felt  like  a 
Newfoundland  dog  in  a  greenhouse.  Everything  is 
so  small,  and  neat,  and  perfect  in  these  suburban 
gardens,  I  feel  as  if  I  were  in  a  china  shop,  I  am 
always  afraid  of  breaking  or  disarranging  some- 
thing. I  must  persuade  you  and  Mr.  Leigh  to  come 
to  Combe.  We  have  real  wild  tangled  woods  there, 
and  a  real  wild  river,  with  such  lovely  wild  flowers, 
and  great,  wet,  green  ferns  about  it,  and  a  little  way 
off  the  sea,  a  real,  noisy,  blustering,  hearty  sea. 
Would  you  like  to  come  ?  " 

Grace's  eyes  shone. 

"  If  father  could  have  a  holiday,"  she  said. 

"  Yery  well.  I  have  your  promise.  We  will  try 
and  arrange  the  rest,  and  you  are  to  bring  your 


23 2  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

colors,  and  you  may  paint  from  morning  to 
night." 

"I  think  I  should  be  too  happy  to  paint,"  said 
Grace.  "  I  should  be  always  wanting  to  look  and 
listen." 

"  Well  then,  you  shall  do  nothing  from  morning 
till  night,  if  you  like  that  better.  All  my  guests 
are  free  as  air." 

"But  please,  Lady  Katharine,"  said  Grace,  "I 
should  not  like  that  at  all.  But  looking  and  listen- 
ing are  not  always  doing  nothing,  are  they  ?" 

"  I  will  debate  that  point  when  you  are  at  Combe," 
said  Lady  Katharine,  "  however,  I  am  quite  sure 
doing  nothing  sometimes  does  wonders.  And  I  hope 
you  will  see  that  with  your  father.  We  will  not 
let  him,  at  all  events,  do  a  thing  from  morning  till 
night,  and  you  yourself  shall  draw,  and  Mr.  Leigh 
will  grow  quite  young  and  strong,  with  a  voice  like 
a  lion,  and  a  step  like  a  deer." 

"It  would  be  nice  to  hear  father's  voice  quite 
strong  again,"  said  Grace,  calling  largely  on  her 
recollection  of  the  Zoological  Gardens  to  realize 
Lady  Katharine's  similes.  "  He  was  quite  strong 
once,  and  used  to  take  such  long  walks  when  he 
was  at  Cambridge." 

"We  will  make  him  quite  strong  again,"  said 
Lady  Katharine  decisively. 

And  Grace,  looking  up  into  her  kind,  clear,  pow- 
erful eyes,  felt  as  if  Lady  Katharine  really  could  do 
whatever  she  would. 

Winifred  was  quite  satisfied  with  the  impression 
produced  by  her  friend. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  233 

"That  child  is  a  gentlewoman  through  and 
through,"  pronounced  Lady  Katharine ;  "  she  would 
be  as  much  at  home  at  court  as  in  a  cottage,  and  as 
sweet  and  humble  with  a  beggar  as  with  the  queen. 
But  that  is  only  natural.  Her  father  is  a  true  gen- 
tleman of  the  old  school.  Her  mother  must  have 
been  a  thoroughly  well-bred  person.  That  kind  of 
thing  only  comes  by  race — that  tact  and  delicate 
instinct  what  to  do  and  say.  Every  look  of  her 
sweet,  calm,  motherly-like  face,  every  movement  of 
her  pretty,  small,  white  hands,  has  a  charm  in  it. 
And  her  voice  is,  as  sentimental  people  would  say, 
like  a  summer  wind,  not  ringing  like  a  fairy  bell, 
like  our  Winnie's,  and  sometimes  like  a  very  perti- 
nacious little  bell,  but  like  a  thought  unconsciously 
taking  sound.  She  ought  to  sing ;  she  must  have 
lessons." 

"  She  does  sing,  Aunt  Katharine,  little  Fan  told 
me  so.  She  sang  once  by  Dan's  bedside." 

"  Ah,"  said  Lady  Katharine  meditatively,  "  then 
perhaps  she  had  better  not  have  lessons.  They 
might  spoil  her.  I  know  how  she  would  sing — 
warbling  like  a  bird,  no  great  compass,  but  rich, 
and  tremulous,  and  full.  Those  voices  are  spoiled 
by  forcing  them  into  heights  and  depths,  or  fetter- 
ing them  with  rules.  No,  she  must  not  have  les- 
sons." 

Rosalie  also  had  her  commendations  of  Mademoi- 
selle. Of  Grace's  French,  she  had  expressed  (pri- 
vately to  Winnie)  an  opinion,  I  am  sorry  to  say, 
confirmatory  of  Grace's  own  worst  suspicions. 
But  of  Grace  herself  there  could  be  but  one  opinion. 
20* 


234  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

"  The  dress  of  your  compatriots  usually,"  she 
said,  "  has  the  look  of  being  built  upon  them.  First, 
no  doubt,  as  a  foundation  there  is  a  human  figure. 
On  this  is  constructed  an  erection  of  clothes,  manu- 
factured by  the  thousand,  like  regimental  uniforms, 
without  reference  to  individualities.  Colors,  shades, 
materials  are  distributed  as  in  a  lottery.  But  with 
Mademoiselle  Grace,  as  with  a  Parisian,  her  toilette 
is  her  own,  from  the  small,  high-instepped,  firmly 
planted  feet,  to  the  small  round  throat  which  the 
simple  dress  clasps  so  well.  There  is  a  character 
in  everything,  from  her  chaussure  to  her  glossy 
brown  hair.  I  do  not  say  some  of  your  country- 
women cannot  make  grand  toilettes.  My  lady 
Katharine  sweeps  her  black  moiree  and  her  lace 
shawl  around  her  in  grand  simple  folds,  like  a 
queen's  robes.  But  Mademoiselle  Grace's  dress 
enfolds  her  as  the  green  leaves  enfold  a  lily  bud. 
And  in  her  manners  such  a  repose.  She  understood 
also,  when  I  was  dressing  your  hair,  Mademoiselle 
Winnie,  that  the  toilette  is  a  work  of  art,  a  sculp- 
ture, a  painting,  only  with  living  subjects ;  not  to 
be  hurried  over  like  a  mere  mechanical  operation. 
Mademoiselle  Grace  has  appreciation.  With  six 
months'  education  she  might  mingle  in  the  first 
salons  of  Paris  and  not  be  distinguished  from  a 
young  lady  of  the  old  noblesse.  She  might  walk 
through  Paris,  and  no  one  say,  That  is  not  a  Pa- 
risian." 

And  beyond  that  Winnie  knew  commendation 
from  Rosalie  would  not  soar. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  235 

Mrs.  O'Brien  said  little.  Her  heart  was  drawn 
to  the  gentle,  humble,  loving  child,  she  felt  afraid 
to  say  how  much. 

A  new  meaning  seemed  to  shine  for  her  that 
night  in  the  words,  "  Except  ye  enter  the  kingdom 
of  heaven  as  a  little  child,  ye  shall  in  no  wise  enter 
therein." 

And  as  Winnie  looked  at  her  illuminated  text  in 
the  evening,  the  divine  voice  seemed  all  the  deeper 
and  sweeter  from  the  human  tones  which  echoed  it. 
"  We  love  Him  because  he  first  loved  us." 

"  How  much  more  must  Grace  love  God,"  she 
thought,  "  than  I  do,  to  be  so  much  more  like  him. 
But  yet  it  is,  '  He  loved  us ' — me  as  well  as  Grace, 
and  Dan,  and  Maurice,  and  the  people  who  are  so 
much  better  than  I  am.  How  good  it  is  of  God  to 
make  those  who  are  so  really  good,  love  me  who  am 
not.  And  yet,  I  suppose,"  she  concluded,  "  it  is  be- 
cause they  are  so  really  good,  that  they  do  love 
people  who  are  not,  but  are  meant  to  be.  Because 
that  is  just  what  God  does.  The  people  who  are 
best  must  love  most,  always,  I  suppose,  and  love 
first.  Only  God  begins  before  any  one  else.  He 
must  begin  to  love  us  before  we  even  want  to  be 
good.  But  that  is,  of  course,  because  he  is  best  of 
all.  And  how  happy  it  is  to  think  of  that." 

So  happy,  that  in  a  few  minutes  the  happy  child 
fell  asleep  with  a  warm,  safe  feeling  at  her  heart,  as 
if  she  had  been  lulled  to  sleep  by  her  mother's 
voice  singing  hymns  softly  by  her,  bedside. 

Mr.  Leigh  and  Grace  were  driven  home  in  Mr. 
O'Brien's  carriage,  a  proceeding  which  highly  im- 


236  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

pressed  Mrs.  Treherne,  although  it  was  not  an  eco- 
nomical mode  of  conveyance  to  Mr.  Leigh,  who 
thought  it  his  duty  to  give  the  coachman  a  larger 
fee  than  his  and  Grace's  omnibus  fare. 

But  he  returned  really  refreshed.  "  I  declare,  it 
has  made  me  feel  quite  young,  and  they  were  very 
kind,  Gracie,"  he  said ;  "  I  am  sure  I  cannot  tell 
why,  but  they  really  did  seem  to  enjoy  it  almost  as 
much  as  we  did." 

Lady  Katharine  carried  her  point.  A  clergyman 
was  found,  by  her  exertions,  to  take  Mr.  Leigh's 
duty  for  six  weeks,  at  St.  Cuthbert's,  and  at  the 
Workhouse.  Mr.  Leigh's  many  scruples  were 
overcome,  not  so  much  by  force  of  argument,  as  by 
force  of  will,  and  the  day  of  departure  was  fixed. 

All  Grace's  little  world  was  set  in  commotion  on 
the  morning  of  that  memorable  day.  Mrs.  Tre- 
herne considered  the  whole  expedition  a  great  risk, 
living,  as  she  did,  in  the  conviction  that  it  was 
nothing  but  her  skillful  counteracting  of  the  various 
snares,  which  in  this  world  of  mutual  preying  on 
each  other,  continually  endanger  helpless  and  un- 
suspicious creatures  like  Mr.  Leigh  and  Grace,  that 
preserved  them  from  unknown  disasters  from  day 
to  day.  She  had,  however,  an  aunt,  a  small  farm- 
er's wife,  living  some  few  miles  from  Combe  Mona- 
chorum,  to  whom  she  gave  Mr.  Leigh  a  parcel  to  be 
delivered  at  his  convenience,  partly  from  a  wish  to 
communicate  with  her  aunt,  but  chiefly  because,  as 
she  said,  "  Mr.  Leigh,  poor  dear  good  gentleman, 
knew  no  more  of  the  world  than  an  infant,  and  if 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  237 

anything  should  go  wrong,  her  aunt  was  a  com- 
fortable woman,  that  had  her  eyes  in  her  head,  and 
had  brought  up  her  children ;  and  she  could  look 
after  him." 

Mrs.  Anderson  was  under  no  apprehension  of  the 
kind.  She  believed  Miss  Grace  was  going  among 
those  who  were  naturally  fit  to  be  her  companions, 
and  she  rejoiced  in  it. 

Miss  Betsy  Lovel  gave  Grace  the  benefit  of  all 
her  little  store  of  old-fashioned  rules  of  etiquette, 
how  to  address  people  of  title,  etc.,  which  might 
have  tended  to  perplex  the  child,  if  Miss  Lavinia 
and  Miss  Betsy  had  been  able  quite  to  agree  on  the 
subject.  But  as  they  could  not,  she  wisely  resolved 
not  to  burden  herself  with  any  of  them. 

"  You  will  come  back  quite  a  grand  lady,  Gracie," 
said  Miss  Lavinia,  from  her  resting-place  on  the 
sofa,  "  and  not  care  to  have  anything  to  say  to  your 
poor  old  friends." 

But  her  trustful  look  and  her  loving  fondling  of 
Grace's  bright  hair,  as  she  knelt  beside  her,  quite 
belied  her  doubting  words,  and  Grace  vouchsafed 
no  answer,  but  kisses  on  the  thin,  long  fingers. 

"  What  ideas  to  put  into  the  dear  child's  head,  sis- 
ter," said  Miss  Betsy,  bridling  a  little.  "  Grace  is 
not  the  first  person  of  our  acquaintance,  I  am  sure, 
who  has  been  invited  to  stay  with  an  earl's  daugh- 
ter. In  my  grandfather's  regiment,  I  have  heard 
my  mother  say,  they  thought  very  little  of  *  hono- 
rables.'  Not  that  I  should  disparage  the  aristoc- 
racy," continued  Miss  Lovel,  in  a  patronizing  way, 
"It  is  not  for  us  to  undervalue  the  ancient  institu- 


238  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

tions  of  the  country.  My  mother,  when  she  was  a 
little  girl,  was  in  the  habit  of  playing  every  day 
with  the  granddaughters  of  an  Irish  viscount.  To 
say  nothing  of  our  own  connections,  which  might 
look  like  boasting.  I  am  sure,  my  dear  Gracie," 
she  concluded,  "  you  will  not  understand  my  sister's 
humility.  She  would  be  the  last  to  wish  to  put 
foolish  worldly  ideas  in  your  head.  Rank  is  noth- 
ing, Gracie,  my  dear ;  and  wealth  is  vanity.  The 
one  thing,  as  you  say  in  your  catechism,  is  to  do 
your  duty  in  the  state  of  life  to  which  it  pleases 
God  to  call  us.  But  there  are  few  families  in  the 
kingdom  before  whom  the  Lovels  would  be  ashamed 
to  hold  up  their  heads.  All  my  sister,  Miss  Lavinia, 
meant,  my  dear,  was  to  warn  you  against  worldly 
ideas,  now  that  you  are  going  out  into  the  world 
for  the  first  time." 

But  Grace  and  Miss  Lavinia  had  not  in  the  least 
misunderstood  each  other.  Grace  was  a  little  be- 
wildered with  Miss  Betsy's  explanations  and  exhor- 
tations, but  she  only  said  : 

"  Please,  I  do  not  think  I  am  going  out  into  the 
world,  Miss  Lovel,  at  all.  We  are  only  going  into 
the  country." 

Little  Fan  and  Grace  understood  each  other  bet- 
ter on  the  subject. 

"  I  am  going  into  the  country,  Fan,"  said  Grace, 
"  the  real  country  where  God  made  everything  with 
his  own  hands." 

"  Please,  Miss  Grace,"  said  Fan,  "  you  will  tell 
me  all  about  it  when  you  come  back.  Dan  says 
when  you  wake  up  in  the  morning  in  the  country, 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  239 

the  first  thing  you  hear  is  the  birds  singing ;  and 
the  corn  grows  so  tall,  I  could  hardly  see  over  it, 
Dan  says ;  and  the  flowers  grow  so  beautiful,  and 
belong  to  nobody,  and  there  is  nobody  to  look  after 
them,  and  there  are  creatures  that  build  houses 
and  roof  them,  and  creatures  that  crack  nuts  and 
sit  on  the  trees  eating  them.  Dan  reads  such  lots 
of  things  in  his  books.  But  the  other  boy  at  the 
shop  says  some  of  them  books  are  all  made  up 
like,  and  are  nothing  but  lies.  And  Dan  wants  to 
know." 

So  anxious  was  little  Fan  to  deliver  Dan  from 
the  sceptical  doubts  of  bakers'  boys — and  such  a 
paradise  did  "the  country"  seem  to  both  the 
children. 

They  started  early  on  the  morning  of  their  de- 
parture, to  be  in  time  for  a  parliamentary  train. 
Harry  on  the  outside  of  the  cab,  fraternizing  in  a 
manly  way  with  the  cabman,  and  ostentatiously 
protectirig  everybody  and  everything ;  Grace  inside 
silently  caring  for  her  father,  Harry,  and  every 
article  of  luggage,  her  traveling  bag  full  of  pro- 
visions of  her  own,  increased  by  sundry  gifts 
from  her  friends ;  and  Mr.  Leigh  beside  her,  per- 
suaded they  should  be  too  late  for  the  train,  and 
inwardly  debating  in  his  own  mind  whether,  in  that 
case,  he  might  not  regard  it  as  a  providential  inti- 
mation that  he  had  better  return  to  his  work  and 
his  corner  by  the  fire-place,  his  apprehensions  hav- 
ing been  in  no  degree  relieved  by  Mrs.  Treherne's 
farewell,  as  with  tears  on  her  cheeks,  she  said, 
"  Well,  we  can  only  hope  all  '11  be  for  the  best,  Mr. 


240 


WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 


Leigh,  and  you'll  all  come  back  safe.  But  it's 
a  wicked  world,  and  full  of  dangers,  and  them 
railways  is  no  better  than  so  many  man-slaugh- 
terers. However,  the  Almighty  can  do  all  things, 
and  some  folks  do  come  back  alive,  there's  no 
denying." 

Once  embarked  in  the  train,  however,  beyond 
the  power  of  altering  his  decision,  Mr.  Leigh's 
spirits  began  to  revive.  He  was  a  little  anxious  at 
first  as  to  whether  he  was  performing  his  duties  to 
various  fellow-passengers,  encumbered  with  babies 
and  with  burdens  of  various  kinds ;  but  rather  a  vague 
offer  of  assistance,  which  he  made  to  an  earnest- 
minded  person  with  two  huge  bundles,  a  large  boy 
and  a  basket,  who  stumbled  into  the  carriage  rather 
hot  from  an  encounter  with  a  porter,  having  been 
apparently  misunderstood  and  resented,  Mr.  Leigh 
felt  himself  justified  in  retiring  into  private  life. 
The  earnest-minded  person  remarked  that  "  every 
one  thought  they  could  impose,  on  a  poor  lone 
woman,  with  a  poor  helpless  infant ;  but  that  if  the 
railway  thought  she  was  going  to  trust  her  little 
property  to  be  kicked  or  tossed  about  by  porters,  the 
railway  was  mistaken ;  and  if  other  people  thought 
she  took  more  room  than  she  had  a  title  to,  they 
had  better  complain  to  the  railway  and  not  to  her. 
She  had  not  had  the  making  of  the  carriages." 
On  which,  Mr.  Leigh  feeling  himself  inextricably 
involved  with  personified  railway  companies  and 
impertinent  porters  in  a  catalogue  of  the  enemies 
of  lone  women,  attempted  no  defence,  but  confined 
himself  thenceforth  to  his  duties  to  Grace  and 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  241 

Harry,  and  to  as  small  a  space  of  the  carriage  as 
was  compatible  with  retaining  any  of  the  proper- 
ties of  matter.  Harry,  meantime,  on  his  part,  car- 
ried on  a  silent  war  of  defiant  glances  with  his 
father's  foe,  and  Grace  gave  herself  up  undisturbed 
to  the  unutterable  delight  of  whirling  through 
countless  miles  of  cool  delicious  green,  and  looking 
up  into  boundless  depths  of  pure  sunny  blue. 

The  historical  stateliness  of  the  gray  old  Abbey, 
and  the  lofty  avenues  of  Combe  Monachorum  had 
not  at  all  the  depressing  effect  on  Mr.  Leigh  pro- 
duced by  his  cousin  Felix  Hunter's  great  house  in 
Bedford  Square.  Partly  because  they  lifted  him 
by  the  force  of  association  from  the  petty  thoughts 
of  to-day  into  the  calm  of  history.  And  partly, 
no  doubt,  because  he  felt  that  whatever  might  have 
been  his  sins  of  omission  in  not  acquiring  a  home 
in  Bedford  Square,  even  Mr.  Hunter,  judging  by 
his  highest  standard  of  duty,  could  not  have  rea- 
sonably expected  him  to  provide  his  family  with 
an  estate  like  Combe  Monachorum  and  an  ancestry 
reaching  back  to  the  days  of  Alfred  the  Great. 
He  was  therefore  delivered  from  any  sense  of  re- 
sponsibility and  failure  in  the  matter,  and  felt  at 
liberty  to  enjoy  the  woods  and  meadows  of  the 
Abbey  with  as  complete  an  absence  of  self-reproach 
as  if  he  had  been  called  to  be  a  guest  at  the  British 
Museum,  or  the  Zoological  Gardens,  or  any  other 
neutral  territory  which  no  one  could  have  expected 
him  to  possess.  Moreover,  there  was  none  of  that 
solemn  sense  of  success  ancl  impeccability  at  Combe 
Monachorum  which  upheld  every  one  in  the  house 
21 


242  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

in  Bedford  Square,  and  made  it  quite  an  effort  of 
self-restraint  to  Mr.  Leigh  not  to  apologize  to  the 
very  superior  footman  who  helped  him  to  take  off 
his  great-coat,  for  its  being  a  little  shabby  and 
rubbed  about  the  collar. 

The  old  butler  at  the  Abbey  evidently  took  a 
paternal  interest  in  Mr.  Leigh  from  the  first,  re- 
garding him  as  a  London  gentleman,  of  rather  an 
absent  mind,  not  much  acquainted  with  the  coun- 
try, and  requiring  to  be  watched  in  a  delicate 
manner  and  kept  out  of  danger.  He  accordingly 
warned  Mr.  Leigh  repeatedly  concerning  any  of 
the  dogs  who  were  apt  to  be  uncivil  to  strangers, 
and  any  field  in  which  there  were  cattle  given  to 
run  at  intruders,  and  any  steep  places  on  the  cliffs 
at  the  entrance  of  the  Combe  over  which  unwary 
people  had  at  any  time  stumbled  ;  warnings  which, 
if  they  tended  a  little  to  increase  Mr.  Leigh's  natu- 
ral nervousness,  and  to  keep  him  in  a  state  of 
apprehension  out  of  doors,  yet  served  to  convince 
him  effectually  of  the  friendly  intentions  of  the 
butler. 

The  housekeeper,  also  a  Wesleyan,  took  him 
under  her  especial  protection,  confided  to  him  her 
family  joys  and  sorrows,  declared  his  discourse  did 
her  as  much  good  as  any  sermon  she  ever  heard  at 
the  meeting,  and  repaid  his  sympathy  by  a  mild 
tyranny  in  the  form  of  hot  possets  at  night  for  the 
good  of  his  throat,  and  cold  bitters  in  the  morning 
for  the  good  of  his  chest.  Indeed  the  servants  in 
general  declared  that  since  master  died,  they  had 
not  seen  such  a  gentleman  as  Mr.  Leigh.  lie  made 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  243 

no  more  mark  on  the  floors  with  his  shoes  than  a 
ghost.  He  was  so  anxious  to  give  no  trouble,  it 
was  quite  a  trouble  to  find  out  what  he  wanted ; 
and  he  was  as  thankful  for  any  one  answering  the 
bell  as  if  it  had  been  quite  an  unexpected  favor. 
Then  for  all  he  seemed  so  in  the  clouds,  he  saw  in 
a  moment  if  any  one  was  in  want  of  a  kind  word. 
Sarah,  the  under-housemaid,  had  lost  her  brother, 
and  she  had  been  crying  one  morning  as  she  was 
washing  the  door-steps,  when  Mr.  Leigh  was  going 
out  for  his  early  walk ;  and  he  saw  it,  and  spoke  so 
feelingly  to  her,  and  when  he  found  what  was  the 
matter,  he  crept  away  that  very  morning  to  see 
Sarah's  mother  who  was  a  widow,  and  gave  her 
such  a  discourse  and  such  a  prayer,  Sarah  said,  that 
her  mother  was  quite  lifted  up  like,  and  said  she 
should  never  forget  it. 

So  that  Mr.  Leigh  naturally  felt  more  at  home  at 
Combe  than  Bedford  Square.  The  Combe  Mona- 
chorum  household  was  not  like  Mr.  Hunter's — a 
museum  of  models,  all  of  them  representative  men 
and  women — but  a  collection  of  peccable  and  falli- 
ble human  beings  like  Mr.  Leigh  himself;  and 
association  of  human  beings  of  that  ordinary  kind, 
if  less  elevating  and  improving,  is  also  less  over- 
powering. The  mutual  links  between  the  represen- 
tative units  themselves  may  be  of  a  very  elevated 
and  representative  character;  but  the  links  of 
those  units  with  inferior  orders  of  humanity  being 
rather  quantitative,  or  arithmetical,  than  personal, 
are  apt  to  be  similar  to  the  relations  between  a 
unit  and  its  fractions,  and,  therefore,  oppressive  to 


244  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

the  fractions.  Especially  if  the  fraction  is  bur- 
dened, like  Mr.  Leigh,  with  the  sense  that  it  ought 
to  have  been  a  unit,  and  is  deeply  responsible  for 
being  a  fraction  at  all.  For  what,  as  Cousin  Felix 
or  Mrs.  Dee,  or  any  representative  unit  knows,  is  a 
fraction  but  a  fragment,  broken,  and  chipped,  and 
squeezed,  and  jostled  by  its  own  inherent  brittle- 
ness  and  compressibility,  encountering  an  energetic 
and  advancing  age,  out  of  the  upper  line  altogether 
till  it  had  sunk  below  the  surface  of  society  into 
the  line  of  minuses,  and  ceased  to  have  any  real 
value  or  standing  at  all  in  the  universe. 

At  Combe  Monachorum,  as  in  his  own  little 
circle  in  the  east  of  London,  the  arithmetical  or 
quantitative  relations  gave  way  to  the  human. 
And  Mr.  Leigh  was  not  without  gleams  of  hope 
that  this  might  also  be  the  case  in  another  Home 
where  certain  two  mites,  and  even  a  cup  of  cold 
water,  which  would  not  have  cost  one  mite,  are 
said  to  be  invested  with  a  value  plainly  not  depend- 
ent on  any  known  laws  of  number  or  magnitude. 

Grace  meanwhile,  having  never  been  distressed 
with  any  social  responsibilities  of  the  kind,  feeling 
her  father's  lot  as  the  curate,  and  her  own  as  the 
curate's  daughter,  to  be  as  divinely  ordered  as  the 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury's  or  Lady  Katharine's, 
and  being,  moreover,  relieved  of  her  own  peculiar 
responsibilities  with  regard  to  her  father  and  Harry, 
by  seeing  her  father  quite  at  home,  and  enjoying 
his  long  solitary  rambles,  and  Harry  safe  and  proud 
under  the  gamekeeper,  and  in  charge  of  a  pony  for 
his  own  use,  was  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  since 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


245 


her  mother's  death  once  more  a  free  and  joyous 
child,  without  any  one  in  particular  to  take  care  of, 
having  only  to  exercise  that  mild  protectorate  of 
her  fellow-creatures  in  general,  which  was  her  natu- 
ral prerogative. 

Lady  Katharine  provided  Grace  and  Harry  with 
two  occupations  which  were  the  source  to  them  of 
endless  adventures  and  delights.  One  was  to  stock 
an  aquarium  with  sea-creatures  from  the  rocky 
pools  and  the  sands  on  the  sea-shore,  which  was 
not  a  mile  distant.  The  other  was  to  supply  a  wild- 
garden  she  was  forming  with  wild  flowers  and  ferns. 
As  early  as  possible  after  breakfast,  tlie  two  chil- 
dren started,  Harry  accoutred  with  a  manly  knap- 
sack containing  sundry  satisfactory  West-country 
pasties ;  and  armed  (according  to  their  various  des- 
tinations) with  a  spade,  trowel,  and  basket,  or  with 
a  large-mouthed  glass  bottle,  and  a  small  net  on 
a  hoop. 

T9  Harry  these  excursions  had  all  the  excitement 
of  hunting  or  deerstalking.  Steeple  chases,  indeed, 
he  made  of  them,  marching  Grace  with  a  lofty 
scorn  of  obstacles  over  hedges,  and  up  and  down 
cliffs,  whilst  she  never  thought  of  questioning  that 
this  was  the  ordinary  mode  of  progress  in  "  the 
country,"  being  imposed  on  by  Harry's  narrations 
of  his  Hampstead  experiences.  His  delight  was  in 
the  pursuit  and  the  capture,  in  the  scrambles  by 
the  way,  and  in  baffling  the  attempts  of  the  vari- 
ous creatures  to  escape.  They  were  to  him  in 
starting  like  going  off  to  the  wars ;  and  in  return- 
ing, like  the  march  of  a  conqueror.  He  shouldered 
21* 


246  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

his  spade  like  a  rifle,  and  handled  his  trowel  like  a 
carbine,  and  dug  out  tiny  sea  anemones,  or  seized 
recalcitrant  crabs  with  as  much  triumph  as  if  they 
had  been  foxes  or  cannibals,  especially  if  the 
achievement  could  be  accomplished,  as  it  frequently 
was,  at  some  risk  to  his  neck. 

Grace's  delight,  on  the  other  hand,  was  in  pene- 
trating into  all  kinds  of  hidden  nooks  and  corners 
of  the  beautiful  world,  in  tracing  the  streams,  the 
flowers  and  the  shells  to  their  cradles  and  homes. 

"  It  will  always  sound  like  a  bit  of  poetry,  you 
know,  Harry,"  she  said,  "  after  this,  to  hear  them 
crying  periwinkles  in  the  streets.  It  will  take  us 
back  to  the  rock-pools,  and  the  sands,  and  the  shin- 
ing sea  with  all  its  sounds.  It  will  be  almost  as 
good  as  a  bit  of  IJomer." 

"  Quite,  I  think,"  said  Harry,  whose  associations 
with  periwinkles  had  not  previously  been  of  a  pain- 
ful kind,  and  whose  recollections  of  Homer  were 
not  of  unmixed  delight. 

To  Grace  these  expeditions  were  "voyages  of  dis- 
covery. No  voyager  on  unexplored  seas  ever  de- 
lighted more  in  the  sight  of  new  shores  than  Grace 
whenever  she  lighted  on  a  new  world  of  wonders 
in  some  still  rock-pool,  where  tiny  silvery  fish 
'flashed  in  and  out  among  sea-weeds  and  crimson 
corallines,  or  in  some  woodland  nook  where  ferns 
and  wild  flowers  nestled  around  the  cradles  of  the 
brooks.  Many  a  time  she  thanked  God  silently  in 
her  heart  for  opening,  one  by  one,  the  doors  of 
these  treasure-chambers  of  his  beautiful  world  to 
her.  All  day  long  she  often  felt  as  if  she  were 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


247 


being  led  by  the  hand  into  room  after  room  of 
God's  palaces. 

"  Oh,  Harry,"  she  said,  as  they  were  sitting  on 
rocks  one  day  at  their  luncheon,  when,  as  usual, 
she  had  clasped  her  hands,  and  said  her  grace, 
"  Harry,  it  seems  as  if  one  must  be  saying  grace  all 
day  long.  It  seems  like  eating  and  drinking  de- 
light into  one's  very  heart  all  day  long,  to  wander 
about  like  this." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


|  HE  arrival  of  Mrs.  O'Brien  and  Winnie, 
and  Winnie's  accession  to  the  children's 
exploring  parties  certainly  did  not  de- 
crease their  perils.  To  Winnie,  as  to 
Harry,  more  than  half  the  pleasure  was  in  the 
climbing  and  the  daring.  While  Grace  looked  on 
these  perils  as  necessary  ingredients  in  the  pleas- 
ures, and,  therefore,  never  thought  of  evading  them 
more  than  she  would  any  other  risk  in  her  path, 
Winnie  delighted  in  the  daring  for  its  own  sake, 
and  she  and  Harry  excited  each  other  to  more  and 
more  adventurous  feats,  until  one  day  these  expedi- 
tions had  very  nearly  been  brought  to  an  abrupt 
conclusion. 

"  Madame,"  exclaimed  Rosalie,  rushing  one  after- 
noon into  the  drawing-room,  where  Lady  Katharine 
and  Mrs.  O'Brien  were  sitting, "  lose  not  a  moment, 
I  implore.  I  come  from  watching  Mademoiselle 
Winnie  descend  a  precipice  where  none  but  a 
chamois,  or  a  creature  with  wings,  could  tread  with 
safety.  I  stand  on  the  summit,  I  wring  my  hands, 
C248) 


WINIFRED  BERTRAM.  249 

I  cry  to  her,  I  implore  her  with  every  gesture  of 
passion  to  return.  But  the  sea  drowns  my  voice, 
and  mademoiselle,  with  the  recklessness  of  child- 
hood, only  waves  her  hand  and  laughs.  At  length 
I  see  her  reach  the  sands  below.  I  clasp  my  hands, 
and  thank  a  merciful  Heaven  for  this  miracle. 
Then  I  rush  home  to  tell  you  and  my  lady,  that 
you  may  be  there  to  prevent  these  young  creatures 
from  rushing  on  self-destruction." 

Mrs.  O'Brien  threw  on  a  shawl  and  prepared 
to  follow  Rosalie  in  a  tremor  of  alarm.  Lady 
Katharine  said  quietly : 

"  Don't  be  too  uneasy,  Cecil.  Rosalie  does  not 
know  what  a  nation  of  cats  we  are.  It  is  as  natural 
to  an  English  boy  to  scramble  to  a  mast-head  as  to 
a  French  boy  to  dance.  But  we  will  certainly  go 
and  see.  From  Rosalie's  description  I  think  they 
must  be  below  the  cliffs  just  on  the  other  side  of 
the  hill." 

Climbing  through  the  wood  behind  the  abbey,  by 
a  short  cut,  they  soon  reached  the  open  down  at  the 
top.  But  before  they  had  crossed  it  to  the  edge  of 
the  cliffs  which  bordered  it,  one  after  another  the 
figures  of  two  of  the  three  culprits  appeared,  Harry 
helping  Winnie. 

Lady  Katharine,  having  firm  nerves,  went  to  the 
edge,  and  there  saw  little  Grace  struggling  up  an 
almost  perpendicular  slide  of  slaty  rock,  with  a 
load  of  sea- weed.  Harry  wanted  to  go  down  and 
help  her ;  but  she  refused  his  help,  and  in  time  she 
was  high  enough  to  accept  Lady  Katharine's  hand, 
and  sprang  to  the  top. 


250  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

Lady  Katharine  was  not  at  all  excitable  ;  but  she 
did  breathe  an  involuntary  sigh  of  relief  as  she  drew 
Grace  away  from  the  edge. 

"  Grace,"  she  said,  "  I  thought  you  were  a  very 
wise  and  sober-minded  little  woman.  I  find  you  are 
first  cousin  to  an  Alpine  chamois.  What  ever 
tempted  you  to  attempt  such  a  precipice?  Have 
you  no  fear  ?" 

"A  little,"  said  Grace  quietly,  "  I  did  not  like  it 
at  all  at  first ;  but  Harry  said  people  had  always  to 
go  by  paths  of  that  kind  on  the  sea-shore,  so  I 
thought  it  was  of  no  use  to  be  afraid,  and  I  came." 

Lady  Katharine  gave  a  quiet  pleased-like  little 
laugh. 

"  But,  as  to  you,"  she  resumed,  turning  to  Winnie 
and  Harry,  whose  hair  was  streaming  in  the  wind, 
"  you  little  Berserkers,  what  have  you  to  say  for 
yourselves  ?" 

"  It  was  such  a  delightfully  difficult  place,  please, 
Aunt  Katharine,"  pleaded  Winnie.  "Harry  had 
always  been  wishing  to  try  it ;  and  to-day  the  tide 
is  coming  in  so  fast  that  we  persuaded  Grace." 

Harry  had  nothing  to  plead  in  extenuation.  His 
courage  was  not  so  much  moral  as  physical,  and  as 
the  conscious  ringleader,  he  felt,  moreover,  the  ad- 
ditional burden  of  guilt. 

"  Grace,"  said  Lady  Katharine,  with  a  forced 
gravity,  "I  am  very  much  amazed  at  you.  I 
thought  you  were  as  good  as  a  little  mother  to  these 
wild  young  people.  How  can  I  ever  trust  you 
together  again?" 

Grace  looked    up,   and,  meeting    ttie  smile    in 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


251 


Lady  Katharine's  eyes,  was  not  at  all  alarmed,  but 
only  said : 

"  Please,  Lady  Katharine,  I  am  really  rather  glad^ 
we  must  not  go  up  quite  such  dangerous  places 
any  more." 

But  Harry,  not  having  courage  to  meet  Lady 
Katharine's  eyes,  yet  not  hesitating  an  instant  to 
rush  to  his  sister's  defence,  said,  with  a  very  crim- 
son face : 

"  It  was  not  Grace's  fault  at  all,  Lady  Katharine. 
She  is  as  good  as  a  mother  to  me  always  ;  or  she 
would  be,  but  I  would  not  let  her.  It  is  all  my 
fault.  Please,  you  must  not  be  angry  with  Grace." 

"  Very  pretty  dictation  from  a  prisoner  at  the 
bar  to  the  judge,"  said  Lady  Katharine ;  ^  and  now, 
culprits,  hear  your  sentences :  Harry  and  Winnie* 
are  sentenced  not  to  break  their  necks  more  than 
once  a  day ;  and  Grace  is  sentenced  not  to  let  them. 
Now  you  are  free." 

Pondering  which  oracular  judgment,  the  three 
children  went  home  to  dinner.  And  Lady  Katha- 
rine, following  slowly,  said  to  Mrs.  O'Brien  : 

"  Those  children  will  do,  Cecil.  The  boy  has  a 
true  man's  courage.  He  is  not  afraid  of  danger, 
but  he  is  afraid  of  disgrace ;  yet  he  will  encoun- 
ter disgrace  rather  than  let  another  bear  an  unjust 
burden.  And  Grace  has  a  true  woman's  courage. 
She  will  shrink  from  nothing  that  is  to  be  en- 
countered in  the  path  she  is  once  persuaded  she 
ought  to  take.  True  woman  and  true  man — that  is, 
gentlewoman  and  gentleman.  Yes,  our  Winnie 
may  be  content  with  her  friends," 


25 2  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

The  next  day  Maurice  arrived,  a  great  festival  to 
the  children,  and  above  all  to  Winnie.  He  looked 
white,  Lady  Katharine  said,  and  worn,  and  alto- 
gether in  want  of  wind  and  sunshine.  He  was  also 
a  little  more  silent  than  usual  with  the  grown-up 
portion  of  the  circle,  although  with  Winnie,  Grace, 
and  llarry,  as  merry  in  his  quiet  way  as  ever,  and 
ready  to  initiate  Harry  into  all  kinds  of  games  and 
feats. 

A  few  days  afterwards  it  chanced  that  a  pony 
carriage  drove  to  the  door,  containing  a  lady  and  a 
little  girl,  and  in  a  minute  Miss  Minna  Denison 
was  ushered  into  the  library,  where  they,  were  all 
sftting.  She  came  with  an  invitation  to  Lady  Kath- 
arine from  her  sister,  ^ with  whom  she  was  staying. 

She  was  looking  brilliant  with  her  rapid  drive 
through  the  fresh  morning  air,  and  was  especially 
gracious,  charming  Mr.  Leigh  by  her  pretty  naive 
questions  about  the  natives  of  the  east  of  London, 
and  drawing  him  into  descriptions  which  appeared 
to  surprise  and  interest  her  intensely. 

Between  Lady  Katharine  and  Miss  Denison  there 
seemed  to  be  an  ancient  and  instinctive  antagonism. 
Lady  Katharine  had  often  seen  Minna  at  intervals 
from  her  childhood,  and  believed  her  to  have  pre- 
cisely that  unreality  and  ineffectiveness  of  character 
to  which  she  was  disposed  to  be  unmerciful.  Her 
quick  eyes,  moreover,  had  caught  a  change  in 
Maurice's  face  at  the  announcement  of  Minna's  name 
which  did  not  at  all  decrease  this  distaste  ;  and  the 
more  rapturous  was  Miss  Denison's  delight  in  the 
brilliancy  of  the  garden,  the  grandeur  of  the  cedars, 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  253 

and  the  historical  associations,  the  more  brief  and 
dry  were  Lady  Katharine's  remarks.  It  provoked 
her,  especially  to  see  Mr.  Leigh's  simplicity,  as  she 
considered,  imposed  upon.  And  when  Mr.  Leigh 
began  to  regret  he  had  no  reports  of  his  ragged 
schools  to  give  Miss  Denison,  Lady  Katharine's  im- 
patience overflowed  all  bounds,  and  she  said  : 

"  Do  not  trouble  yourself,  Mr.  Leigh,  I  have  some 
sketches  by  a  cousin  of  mine  in  the  Fiji  Islands, 
which  will  interest  Miss  Denison  quite  as  much, 
perhaps  for  the  tune.  You  can  send  the  reports, 
you  know,  to  me,"  she  added,  apologizing  to  Mr. 
Leigh's  rather  perplexed  look.  "I  will  forward 
them  to  Miss  Denison." 

Nevertheless,  Lady  Katharine's  hospitality  got 
the  better  of  her  "  anti-pathetic"  feelings  to  the 
extent  of  asking  Minna  to  have  the  horses  put  up, 
and  to  share  an  expedition  they  had  planned  to  the 
sea-shore,  an  invitation  which  Minna,  seeing,  she 
said,  how  her  little  niece  was  enchanted  with  her 
playfellows,  Irad  not  the  heart  to  disappoint  her  by 
refusing — Minna  Denison  having  a  habit  of  per- 
suading herself  whenever  she  did  anything  she  liked, 
that  it  was  because  she  wished  to  gratify  some  one 
else. 

And  thus  it  happened  that  while  Mr.  Leigh  drove 
Lady  Katharine  and  Mrs.  O'Brien  round  to  the 
point  to  be  reached,  in  a  basket-carriage,  and  Win- 
nie and  Harry  made  straight  for  it  by  all  kinds  of 
marvelous  and  perilous  short  cuts  across  the  cliffs, 
Minna  was  not  able  to  get  through  the  various  diffi- 
culties of  the  way  without  Maurice  Bertram's  as- 
22 


254  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

sistance,  so  that  the  care  of  little  Clare  entirely  de- 
volved on  Grace,  who  took  the  child  carefully  round 
by  the  easiest  paths  she  could  find,  lifting  her  over 
the  stiles.  Once,  indeed,  Maurice  looked  back, 
rather  hesitating  whom  he  ought  to  help,  and  at 
once  Minna  proposed  to  wait.  But  when  they  ar- 
rived she  said,  in  her  gracious  little  way,  to  Grace : 

"Any  one  can  see  how  fond  you  are  of  children, 
Miss  Leigh.  Little  Clare  felt  it  the  first  moment 
she  saw  you.  Do  you  like  to  be  with  Miss  Leigh, 
Clare,  or  will  you  come  to  auntie  ?"  she  said. 

The  child  clung  to  Grace's  protecting  hand,  and 
looked  up  in  her  face. 

"  There,  Clare,  your  choice  is  plain  enough.  What 
a  blessing  for  you  that  auntie  is  not  given  to  jeal- 
ousy !  But  don't  let  Clare  be  a  trouble,"  she  added 
to  Grace ;  "  and  don't  be  willful  and  troublesome, 
Clare,  to  Miss  Leigh." 

"  Miss  Leigh  says  I  am  no  trouble,"  said  Clare. 
"  You  like  having  me,  don't  you,  Miss  Leigh  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  do,  indeed,"  said  Grace. 

So,  in  a  sense,  she  did,  although  it  was  not  with- 
out some  little  wish  to  participate  that  she  saw 
Winnie  and  Harry  eagerly  hunting  among  the  pools 
on  the  rocks  below,  or  listened  to  such  fragments  as 
she  caught  of  Mr.  Bertram's  and  Miss  Denison's 
conversation  about  books  and  art,  and  schools,  and 
various  things  that  especially  interested  her.  And 
moreover,  Clare,  being  a  spoilt  only  child,  was  occa- 
sionally very  willful  and  exacting,  and  required  all 
Grace's  skill  to  keep  her  out  of  mischief. 

Meantime  Maurice  Bertram's  manner  was  greatly 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  255 

perplexing  Minna  Denison.  It  was  so  completely 
the  manner  of  a  mere  acquaintance.  He  failed  so 
entirely  to  follow  up  any  allusion  to  their  former 
pursuits  together  at  Beechlands,  that  Minna  began 
to  wonder  whether  he  had  ever  really  cared  for  her 
at  all,  or  whether  he  had  transferred  his  allegiance 
to  some  one  else.  And  this  very  doubt  just  piqued 
and  interested  her  sufficiently  to  lead  her  not  to  be 
easy  until  she  had  solved  it.  She  was  not  accus- 
tomed to  see  her  captives  so  easily  glide  out  of  the 
ranks  of  her  triumphal  procession.  And  the  true 
solution  never  occurred  to  her.  She  never  conjec- 
tured that  Maurice  had  so  sincere  a  faith  in  her  truth 
and  goodness  that  he  felt  sure  she  never  would  have 
given  him  the  answer  she  had  in  the  easy  and  un- 
pained  way  she  had,  if  there  had  been  ever  the 
slightest  real  interest  in  him  in  her  heart. 

If  at  moments  he  in  his  heart  felt- a  little  perplex- 
ity that  after  what  had  passed  she  should  wish  for 
any  conversation  with  him  at  all,  he  set  it  down  to 
the  entire  indifference  to  him,  which  made  her  una- 
ble to  conceive  his  feelings,  combined  with  that  gen- 
eral graciousness  of  hers,  which  made  it  impossible 
for  her  not  to  try  to  make  things  pleasant  to  every 
one. 

So  they  walked  on  separately,  Grace  coaxing 
Clare  into  ways  as  little  perilous  as  possible,  until 
they  reached  the  sands,  not  far  from  the  place  of  ren- 
dezvous, and  with  some  relief  Grace  resigned  her 
dangerous  charge  into  the  hands  of  Aunt  Minna. 

Minna  was  alone,  Maurice  having  gou,e  forward 
to  ask  the  meaning  of  a  sign  from  the  pony-carriage, 


25 6  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

which  was  halting  in  the  distance,  and  she  drew 
Grace  into  a  conversation  about  her  father  and  her 
home-life,  which  absorbed  Grace  entirely  until  they 
were  both  roused  by  a  sharp  childish  shriek  at  some 
little  distance  above  them,  and  looking  around  they 
saw  little  Clare  a  long  way  above,  on  the  side  of 
the  cliff,  rolling  down  a  slide  of  loose  slate  until  she 
reached  a  projecting  piece  of  rock,  to  which  she 
clung,  shrieking  violently. 

Minna  elapsed  her  hands.  "  What  shall  we  do  ?" 
she  exclaimed ;  "  it  is  exactly  the  kind  of  place  I 
never  could  climb  over." 

Grace  was  on  her  way  up  the  cliff  without  another 
word. 

"  Oh,  don't !  don't !"  exclaimed  Minna,  and  she 
ran  in  the  other  direction  crying  for  help. 

In  a  minute  or  two  Maurice  was  by  her  side. 

"  Look !"  she  said,  pointing  to  where  Grace  was 
climbing,  and  then  turning  away  her  head,  she  hid 
her  face,  "  What  are  we  to  do  ?  If  I  look  again  I 
shall  faint !" 

Maurice  surveyed  the  ground  for  an  instant  be- 
fore he  decided  what  to  do.  He  saw  that  Grace,  in 
her  haste,  had  taken  the  wrong  path,  and  that  be- 
tween her  and  little  Clare  jutted  up  a  sharp  point 
of  rock  which  it  seemed  impossible  for  her  to  cross. 
But  in  another  instant  Grace  was  creeping  ronnd  it 
on  her  knees,  and  catching  hold  of  little  Clare's 
dress,  reassured  her,  and  held  her  tight  until  Mau- 
rice climbed  up  by  another  way,  steeper,  but  prac- 
ticable, by  means  of  narrow  ledges  in  the  rock,  and 
rescued  them  both. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED 


257 


"  How  can  I  ever  thank  you  enough  ?"  said  Min- 
na, when  they  returned. 

"  It  is  more  Miss  Leigh  you  have  to  thank  than 
me,"  he  said.  "One  would  think  you  had  been 
trained  as  chamois-hunter,"  he  added,  with  a  smile, 
to  Grace ;  "  people  do  not  grow  into  heroines  in  a 
moment." 

"  I  have  had  some  practice  lately,"  said  Grace, 
blushing  partly  at  his  prafse,  and  partly  at  the  recol- 
lection of  Lady  Katharine's  exhortations. 

"  It  is  a  great  gift  not  to  be  too  sensitive,"  said 
Minna.  "  If  I  had  looked  at  you  all  another  instant 
I  should  have  fainted.  I  was  absolutely  obliged  to 
cover  my  eyes." 

He  glanced  for  an  instant  from  her  mobile  bril- 
liant face,  as  she  sat  on  a  rock,  caressing  the  sobbing 
child,  to  Grace,  who  stood  pale  and  quiet  near, 
while 

"  On  her  eyelids  many  graces  sat, 
Under  the  shadow  of  her  even  brows," 

as  if  a  contrast  were  flashed  suddenly  on  him.  If 
so,  his  thoughts  were  arrested  by  an  exclamation 
from  Minna,  who,  covering  her  eyes  in  earnest, 
said: 

"  O  Clare !  what  have  you  done  to  yourself? 
Look  at  her  arm,  Miss  Leigh ;  what  can  we  do  ?  I 
never  could  bear  to  see  anything  like  that !" 

And  looking  at  Clare's  arm,  Grace  perceived  a 
deep  cut,  which  in  her  terror  the  child  had  scarcely 
noticed,  but  which  was  now  beginning  to  bleed. 

"  I  can  bear  it,  Miss  Denison,"  said  Grace,  quietly ; 
22* 


258  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

"  I  had  to  get  used  to  it  when  Harry  had  his  head 
cut  at  cricket.  I  think  I  know  what  to  do,  if  you 
will  let  me  try." 

And  she  began  gently  to  wash  the  wound  from 
the  sand,  which  was  likely  to  irritate  it,  with  water 
from  her  painting-tin. 

But  Clare  struggled  and  shrieked,  and  Minna  pet- 
ted and  pitied  her,  and  declared  she  couldn't  bear 
to  see  the  child  hurt.  Stf  that  it  was  not  until  Mau- 
rice took  the  child  on  his  knee,  and  with  a  few  firm, 
gentle  words,  encouraged  her  to  brave  and  bear  the 
pain,  that  Grace  succeeded  in  binding  up  the  cut, 
while  Minna  moved  away,  only  returning  when  all 
was  accomplished,  to  lavish  the  tenderest  caresses 
on  Clare,  and  the  tenderest  pity  on  herself. 

"  I  know  you  all  think  me  very  sensitive  and  ridi- 
culous," she  said,  as  they  walked  over  the  sands  to 
rejoin  the  rest^of  the  party. 

But  except  Minna  Denison  herself,  none  of  them 
were  at  that  moment  thinking  of  Minna  Denison  at 
all.  Grace  was  thinking  how  to  comfort  little  Clare, 
who  was  thinking  to  some  profit  between  her  sobs 
that  it  would  have  been  better  if  she  had  done  what 
she  was  told.  •  And  Maurice  was  not  exactly  think- 
ing at  all,  but  was  feeling  that  there  were  things 
more  feminine,  as  well  as  more  heroic,  to  do  on  such 
occasions  than  to  faint,  and  that  it  was  possible  for 
people  to  be  so  sensitive  about  their  own  sensations 
as  to  be  rather  insensible  to  the  wants  of  others ;  a 
feeling  which  was  deepened  as  he  observed  how 
Minna's  sensitiveness  did  not  at  all  affect  her  enjoy- 
ment of  the  rest  of  the  entertainment,  and  heard 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  259 

her  giving  a  narrative  of  the  whole  proceedings,  in 
which  the  chief  contrasts  lay  between  her  own 
tender  and  too-feeling  heart  and  Grace's  marvel- 
ously  strong  nerves. 

Grace,  meanwhile,  after  persuading  every  one  but 
Lady  Katharine  that  she  was  not  in  the  least  agi- 
tated, finally  belied  herself  by  only  escaping  an 
actual  fainting  fit,  through  Lady  Katharine's  autho- 
itative  administration  of  a  glass  of  wine  at  the 
moment  when  the  delicate  color  usual  to  her  was 
fading  into  a  deadly  paleness. 

Minna  Denison's  review  of  the  proceedings  of 
that  day,  when  she  sat  alone  in  the  evening  to  con- 
template herself  before  her  material  and  spiritual 
looking-glasses,  was  not  altogether  satisfactory. 

The  vision  of  that  sweet  pale  face  of  little  Grace 
rose  before  her  as  at  all  events  more  fit  for  transfer- 
ence to  a  sacred  picture  than  the  soft  brilliant  color 
and  eyes  before  her.  And  at  the  same  time  also  rose 
before  her  the  vision  of  a  self-sacrificing  love,  not 
leaping  into  chasms,  or  sitting  transfixed  as  with 
arrows,  or  reclining  on  an  Oriental  couch  letting  an 
asp  poison  the  fair  round  arm,  or  clothed  with 
wings,  but  embodied  the  form  of  a  young  girl 
scarcely  more  than  a  child,  tenderly,  with  com- 
pressed lips,  binding  up  the  wound  on  the  arm  of 
another  little  child, 

But  Minna  Denison  did  not  transfer  this  medita- 
tion to  the  velvet  diary  with  the  golden  lock  and 
key,  perhaps  because  it  was  the  first  act  of  worship 
in  a  service  and  at  an  altar  new  to  her,  whose  first 


260  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

devotions  are  apt  to  be  expressed,  not  in  any  poeti- 
cal or  elevated  language  at  all,  but  in  poor  blun- 
dering, broken,  humble  words,  mixed  with  sighs 
and  tears,  carefully  hidden  from  the  eyes  of  all  but 
one. 

Maurice  also  had  his  own  private  and  altered 
reflections  that  evening  as  he  reviewed  the  events 
of  the  day.  And  if  these  might  not  have  been 
altogether  flattering  to  Minna  Denison,  they  were 
far  more  humbling  to  himself. 

Often  and  often  he  had  said  to  himself  in  that 
recent  struggle  with  disappointment,  how  far  bet- 
ter it  was  to  have  a  sacred  shrine  simply  closed  on 
him  than  to  have  it  desecrated.  If  Minna's  rejec- 
tion had  been  like  the  death  of  half  of  himself  to 
him,  anything  which  lowered  the  thought  of  her  in  his 
heart  would,  he  had  thought,  have  been  like  anni- 
hilation. Anything  rather  than  that !  It  was  much 
to  know  that  that  gracious,  pure,  true  womanly 
presence  was  shining  somewhere  in  the  world,  if 
not  for  him.  Yet,  contrary  to  what  he  could  have 
believed,  as  he  thought  over  the  events  of  that  day, 
a  new  strength  came  into  his  heart.  He  had  been 
deluded.  He  had  deluded  himself.  He  blamed  no 
one  but  himself.  The  idol  was  not  only  dethroned, 
it  was  broken,  or  rather  nothing  had  really  crossed 
his  path  but  a  dream  of  his  own.  The  Minna  he 
had  loved  had  never  really  existed. 

Many  cgnflicting  feelings  sprang  out  of  the  anni- 
hilation of  that  mistaken  love.  Humiliation  at  his 
want  of  penetration ;  had  his  own  character  been 
deeper  and  truer,  he  thought,  he  surely  could  not 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  26i 

have  failed  to  feel  the  want  of  depth  and  truth  in 
hers.  Thankfulness  that  he  had  awakened  not  too 
late  ;  and  then  a  generous  compassion  for  her  who 
might,  as  in  outward  things,  so  in  inward  (he  could 
not  help  thinking),  have  been  so  different  and  so 
beautiful.  And  beside  the  dissolving  image  of 
Minna  rose  the  sweet  childish  form  which  shone 
on  Minna's  own  meditations,  which,  as  his  thoughts 
glided  into  dreams,  became  mingled  with  a  white 
sculptured  form  of  Charity,  with  the  children  clus- 
tering round  her,  and  a  figure  like  that  of  the  child 
Samuel  kneeling  and  praying  in  the  twilight  of  the 
Temple. 

Lady  Katharine,  on  her  part,  concluded  the  day 
with  an  inward  storm  of  indignation,  directed  firstly 
at  the  blunders  of  men  in  general,  good  men  in  par- 
ticular, and  Maurice  in  particular  of  all  good  men ; 
and  secondly,  at  the  detestable  selfish  sensitiveness 
and  unreality  of  young  ladies  in  general,  and  Min- 
na Denison  in  particular. 

While  Grace,  perhaps,  looked  deepest  into  the 
matter  of  them  all.  For  on  their  way  home  it  had 
chanced  that  Grace  and  Minna  being  on  the  seat 
of  the  pony  carriage  alone  together,  Minna  had 


"  How  do  you  make  children  love  you  and  do 
what  you  tell  them  ?  Clare  clung  to  you  after  you 
had  hurt  her  in  binding  up  her  wound,  more  than 
to  me  who  could  not  bear  to  see  her  hurt." 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  Grace,  "  I  suppose 
she  felt  I  did  really  wish  to  help  her,  although  I 
did  hurt  her.  I  am  afraid  I  was  very  awkward." 


26 2  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

"  But  how  could  you  do  it  ?"  said  Minna,  with  a 
little  shudder. 

Grace  looked  up  in  wonder. 

"  It  had  to  be  done,  you  know,  Miss  ^Denison," 
she  said,  "  and  there  was  no  one  else.  And  I  had 
tried  before  for  Harry." 

"  It  is  a  great  blessing  not  to  have  one's  nerves 
too  finely  strung,"  said  Minna ;  "  how  I  should  like 
to  be  as  courageous  as  you  are  !" 

Yet  the  two  principles  of  doing  things  "  really  to 
help  others"  and  because  they  "had  to  be  done" 
instead  of  in  order  to  make- people  love  us,  and  be- 
cause we  like,  slowly  penetrated  into  Minna's  heart, 
bringing  new  thoughts  of  love  and  duty,  strong 
enough  to  overturn  her  whole  dream-world  if  only 
they  were  inspired  with  the  life  by  which  princi- 
ples grow. 

And  Grace,  pondering  Minna's  questions  that 
night  in  her  heart,  prayed  that  she  might  know  the 
joy  of  loving  and  helping  people,  as  God  loves  and 
helps  us ;  because  it  seemed  to  her  the  power  to 
help  followed  necessarily  on  the  love. 

»• 

"  Difficulty  in  visiting  the  poor,  Cecil,  what  do 
you  mean  ?"  said  Lady  Katharine,  as  they  were 
returning  from  a  walk  round  the  village,  where 
she  had  an  inquiry,  or  a  suggestion,  or  a  word  of 
sympathy  for  every  one,  from  the  toddling  wee 
thing  to  the  gray-haired  grandfather  set  to  take 
care  of  it.  "  Difficulty  in  visiting  the  poor  !  No 
more  than  in  visiting  any  one  else ;  less,  indeed, 
for  we  have  not  half  the  ridiculous  crusts  of  con- 


TEE    WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  263 

ventionalism  to  break  through  with  them  that  we 
liave  with  other  people.  In  going  to  see  the  people 
in  our  village,  I  see  mothers  and  children,  sick  peo- 
ple, suffering  old  and  young.  We  speak  of  births 
and  deaths,  and  household  cares,  just  the  things 
that  are  really  interesting  to  us.  In  calling  on  my 
neighbors,  we  speak  of  the  weather,  the  Queen's 
speech,  what  people  are  talking  about  in  Parlia- 
ment or  convocation,  anything  in  the  world  that 
does  not  interest  us,  does  not  come  close  to  us.  Of 
course,  I  am  more  at  home  in  visiting  the  poor. 
The  conversation  is  real,  the  interests  are  natural, 
the  links  between  us  are  real  and  natural.  What 
can  you  mean  by  finding  it  difficult  ?" 

"  I  do  not  suppose  you  do  find  it  difficult,  Aunt 
Katharine.  I  do  not  think  I  should  in  your  place. 
You  know  every  one  in  the  village,  and  every  one 
knows  you.  More  than  that,  you  know  every  one's 
grandmother  or  grandchildren,  arid  every  one  knows 
yours.  And  you  belong  to  each  other.  You  are 
related  to  each  other.  You  are  mistress  and  ser- 
vant, landlord  and  tenant,  employer  and  employed, 
friends  of  generations.  I  think  visiting  the  poor, 
as  you  do  in  the  country,  might  not  be  difficult 
even  to  me ;  but  with  me,  near  London,  it  is  quite 
different.  I  have  no  natural  links  with  the  poor." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Lady  Katharine,  "  then  I  suppose 
in  the  neighborhood  of  London  you  have  no  wash- 
erwomen and  no  cooks.  You  polish  your  own  boots 
and  scrub  your  own  floors,  and  dig  your  own  pota- 
toes, I  suppose,  in  the  neighborhood  of  London." 

"  You  do  not  call  paying  bills  a  natural  link  with 


264  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

anybody,  Aunt  Katharine,  do  you?  Besides,  I 
never  do  pay  my  own  bills." 

"  I  suppose  somebody  does  pay  the  laundress, 
however." 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Brewer  does.  She  is  my  cook  and 
housekeeper,  a  very  respectable  person." 

"  And,  I  presume,  the  laundress  is  a  human  being 
who  has  her  own  bills  to  pay,  or  not  to  pay,"  con- 
tinued Lady  Katharine  ;  "  and  sundry  small  mouths 
to  fill,  or  not  to  fill  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  her,  Aunt  Katharine  ; 
but  I  should  think  the  laundress  was  scarcely  poor. 
Her  bills  are  very  high,  and  she  keeps  a  donkey 
and  a  spring-cart,  and  sends  a  woman,  I  think, 
for  the  money." 

"  I  suppose,  then,"  pursued  Lady  Katharine,  "  it 
would  be  no  insult  to  the  laundress'  woman  to  call 
her  poor?" 

"She  does  look  rather  wretched,"  said  Mrs. 
O'Brien,  as  if  a  new  light  were  dawning  on  her. 
"  I  never  spoke  to  her,  but  I  have  seen  her  pass. 
Mrs.  Brewer  always  pays  her,  and  she  says  those 
women  who  wash  for  the  laundresses  are  a  very 
low,  set,  and  drink  terribly." 

"  Then  we  have  come  at  last  obviously  to  the 
stratum  of  society  which  may  be  called  poor,  in 
the  person  of  the  laundress'  woman,  Cecil.  But 
you  are  four  links  off  from  her.  Let  me  see.  There 
is  first  the  very  respectable  Mrs.  Brewer,  then  the 
laundress  herself,  who  is  almost  '  genteel,'  since  she 
keeps  a  spring-cart,  which  every  one  knows  is  next 
door  to  a  gig,  and  then  the  laundress'  woman.  A 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  265 

long  chain,  certainly,  for  animal  magnetism  to  "be 
conducted  through.  And  then,  unfortunately,  when 
you  have  got  to  the  laundress'  woman,  she  is  not 
the  '  right  kind  of  poor '  to  care  about,  for  she 
drinks.  Some  of  the  people  in  our  village  also 
drink,  Cecil,  but  then,  as  you  say,  we  have  natural 
links  with  each  other,  and  I  talk  to  them,  and  tell 
them  I  am  sorry  for  it,  and  encourage  them  to  try 
and  give  it  up,  and  now  and  then  one  or  two  of 
them  do.  But  I  suppose  laundress'  women  who 
drink  are  stereotyped  in  their  bad  habits." 

"  They  get  tired  with  standing,  Mrs.  Brewer 
says,  and  then  they  take  a  little  to  keep  them  up, 
and  the  little  becomes  much,  and  more,  and  so  they 
become  hopeless  drunkards." 

"Then  there  is  a  moment,"  said  Lady  Katharine, 
"  at  which  these  laundress  women  only  take  a  little y 
and  are  not  hopeless  drunkards.  I  wonder,  Cecil, 
if  any  one  ever  happened  to  catch  them  just  at  that 
moment,  if  they  might  be  stopped,  and  persuaded 
not  to  become  drunkards  ?  But  then,  perhaps, 
they  would  become  respectable,  and  drive  spring- 
carts,  and  land  you  on  the  other  horn  of  your  di- 
lemma. It  is  very  hard  for  you,  certainly,  that  your 
4  poor '  are  all  either  too  respectable  to  be  visited,  or 
too  c  low '  to  be  helped.  Can  you  find  no  one  half 
way  ?  I  suppose  your  butler  is  far  too  respectable 
even  to  have  poor  relations." 

,     "  Mr.  Walters,  Aunt  Katharine  ?     I  am  sure  I 
have  no   idea  if  he   has   any  relations   at   all.     I 
should  think  it  quite  a  liberty  to  ask  him.     Be- 
sides, he  is  going  to  leave  us.     He  said  he  really 
23 


266  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

could  not  live  any  longer  with  a  low  fellow  like 
the  footman,  who  had  not  the  manners  to  open 
the  doors  for  the  ladies'  maids  when  they  left  the 
table." 

"  The  gardener  is  a  man  without  encumbrances  ?" 
asked  Lady  Katharine. 

"  No,  Aunt  Katharine,  he  has  a  family  of  exem- 
plary, neat  little  children.  They  go  to  school,  and  do 
everything  right.  And  his  wife  is  a  hard-working, 
decent  woman.  I  do  know  them  well." 

"  And  the  kitchen-maid,  and  under  housemaid  ?" 
said  Lady  Katharine,  "  I  suppose  they  have  no  re- 
lations either  ?  Probably  they  *  grow'd,'  like  Topsy." 

"  I  really  am  afraid  I  have  not  done  my  duty  to 
them,  Aunt  Katharine ;  but  how  is  one  to  know 
under-servants  ?  Mrs.  Brewer  thinks  it  an  intru- 
sion if  I  appear  in  her  territories  more  than  once 
a  day,  and  the  rooms  of  course  are  all  cleaned 
when  I  am  out  of  the  way,  so  that  I  never  see  any- 
thing of  Kitty  or  Lucy  except  a  flying  vision  of  a 
dustpan  and  a  white  apron  retreating  in  the  dis- 
tance. But  their  relations  are  not  near  us.  Mrs. 
Brewer  says  it  is  safer  to  take  young  people  who 
have  no  relations  at  hand,  to  come  gossipping  about 
the  house.  I  did  notice  that  Kitty's  eyes  were 
very  red  some  days  after  she  came,  when  she  came 
in  to  prayers.  And  once  or  twice  I  spoke  to  her 
when  I  met  her  on  the  stairs.  But  she  blushed  so 
much,  I  thought  she  was  going  to  cry,  so  I  gave 
it  up.  She  had  just  come  from  a  village  in  the 
country." 

"Poor  village    child!"    said    Lady    Katharine, 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  267 

softly,  "  at  home  she  had  known  every  one  she  met, 
I  suppose,  from  babyhood.  And  now  she  is  so  far 
away  from  all — with  no  danger  of  any  one  coming 
to  gossip  about  mother  or  father,  or  the  sister  who 
married  last  year,  or  the  baby-brother  who  died 
this  spring.  So  she  can  work  on  without  being 
hindered,  poor  child." 

"  Aunt  Katharine,"  said  Mrs.  O'Brien,  "  you 
think  me  a  brute." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Lady  Katharine,  "  what  lan- 
guage !  And  of  you  who  have  a  district  in  the 
East  of  London.  You  a  person  without  a  feeling 
heart !  Your  only  fault,  of  course,  as  the  formula 
runs,  is  that  you.  have  *  too  much ;'  and  that  you 
cannot  find  the  right  kind  of  poor.  With  the  peo- 
ple in  the  East  of  London  you  have  no  natural 
links  ;  and  the  people  who  keep  your  house  in  order 
are  either  not  poor  at  all,  or  are  scarcely  it  seems, 
people  at  all,  but  a  species  of  domestic  animals 
brought  from  the  country  to  be  out  of  the  way  of 
acquaintances,  and  to  brush,  sweep  and  scour  with- 
out let  or  hindrance.  These  creatures  from  the 
country  are  not  liable  to  have  lovers,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Mrs.  Brewer  makes  it  a  point  in  engaging  any 
one  that  'followers'  are  not  allowed,"  said  Mrs. 
O'Brien.  "  She  says  it  is  so  dangerous  for  people 
of  that  kind." 

"  And  so  if  they  have  any  lovers,  they  are  lovers 
who  are  NOT  allowed  ?"  pursued  Lady  Katharine. 
"  Is  that  kind  of  lovers  less  dangerous,  Cecil  ?" 

"  What  are  we  to  do,  Aunt  Katharine  ?" 

"  I  suppose  people  of  that  kind  do  marry  now 


268  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

and  then,"  said  Lady  Katharine,  "  in  spite  of  the 
best  arrangements  Mrs.  Brewer  can  make  in  en- 
gaging their  services.  At  least  they  do  in  the 
country.  But  then  in  the  country  they  have 
mothers  to  consult,  and  fathers'  homes  in  which  to 
meet  their  c  sweethearts.'  Cecil,"  she  said,  suddenly 
changing  her  tone  "  have  you  ever  asked  yourself 
before  God  how  you  will  answer  it  to  him,  to  have 
taken  those  young  creatures  from  a  mother's  care 
and  a  father's  roof— rough  indeed  they  may  be  and 
poor,  but  a  mother  and  father  still — under  your 
roof,  without  a  friend  to  consult  or  care  about 
them,  away  from  every  one  who  loves  them,  who 
knows  everything  about  them,  and  to  expose  them 
to  the  risk  that  the  first  words  of  interest  and  re- 
gard they  hear  shall  be  from  those  who  are  not  their 
true  friends  ?" 

"  Aunt  Katharine,"  said  Mrs.  O'Brien,  in  a  falter- 
ing voice,  "  directly  I  get  home,  I  will  see  Kitty  and 
Lucy,  and  as  far  my  counsel  or  care  is  worth  anything, 
they  shall  never  henceforth  be  without  a  friend." 

"  Then  you  have  found  three  natural  links  at 
least  with  the  poor,"  said  Lady  Katharine,  "  Kitty, 
and  Lucy,  and  the  gardener.  Most  strange  it  always 
seems  to  me  that  people  who  have  men  and  women 
from  poor  families  actually  living  under  their  roof — 
eating,  and  drinking,  and  sleeping,  and  waking  in 
one  house,  meeting  at  family  prayer,  perhaps  morn- 
ing and  evening,  should  talk  of  wanting  natural 
links  with  the  poor." 

"  But  servants  do  not  like  being  interfered  with, 
Aunt  Katharine." 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  269 

"Who  does?  I  am  sure  I  do  not,"  said  Lady 
Katharine  (and  it  was  a  proposition  no  one  could 
controvert).  "But  who  does  not  like  to  have  a 
real  friend  ?  Now,"  she  concluded,  testily,  "  the 
next  thing  you  will  do,  Cecil,  is  to  go  to  Kitty  and 
Lucy,  and  ask  them  about  their  mothers  and  fath- 
ers, and  expect  them  all  in  a  moment  to  confide  the 
inmost  secrets  of  their  hearts  to  you ;  and  then,  if 
they  don't,  declare  that  the  English  poor  are  so 
reserved,  so  'impenetrable,'  or  'have  no  sensibili- 
ties,' or  some  nonsense  of  that  kind;  at  least  I 
don't  say  you  will.  But  many  sensitive  people  who 
begin  to  awake  suddenly  to  their  duty  to  their 
neighbors  do,  and  I  only  hope  you  won't." 

"  But,  Aunt  Katharine,"  resumed  Mrs.  O'Brien, 
"I  was  thinking  when  I  began  comparing  your 
relations  with  the  poor  and  mine,  of  my  district  in 
the  East  of  London,  and  of  Mrs.  Dee's  introducing 
me  to  it.  You  seem  to  speak  to  the  people — 
whether  you  are  scolding  a  little,  or  cheering,  or 
advising — in  a  natural  every-day  tone,  as  if  you 
were  down  among  them  and  close  to  them.  Mrs. 
Dee  seemed  to  me  all  the  time  not  so  much  talking 
as  making  speeches  from  a  platform  above  every 
one.  Not  only  to  the  poor  but  to  me." 

"  That  last  certainly  was  a  grievance  for  you, 
Cecil !  I  hope  you  folded  your  hands  meekly  and 
were  benefited.  What  did  Mrs.  Dee  reprove  you 
about?" 

"  She  did  not  reprove  me.     She  commended  me. 
But  her  commendations  are  as  humbling  as  her  re- 
bukes.    She  said,  as  we  drove  into  London,  I  must 
23* 


270  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

excuse  her  for  observing,  but  she  could  not  help 
expressing  her  decided  approval  of  my  dress.  She 
had  no  idea,  she  said,  of  people  putting  on  plain  or 
unfashionable  things  in  going  among  the  poor. 
She  thought  it  was  well  they  should  recognize  dis- 
tinctions, and  that  the  world  should  see  religion  did 
not  make  people  slovenly.  Then  she  told  me  she 
was  glad  to  see  I  did  not  neglect  music  and  paint- 
ing. She  thought  it  produced  such  a  bad  effect 
when  religious  people  were  narrow.  '  We  must 
not  bring  discredit  on  our  profession  by  peculiari- 
ties,' she  said.  '  I  give  my  daughters  the  first  mas- 
ters and  mistresses— indeed  every  advantage,  that 
the  world  may  see  religion  is  not  incompatible  with 
taste  and  education.  We  must  always  remember 
the  great  cause  which  we  represent,'  Mrs.  Dee 
said." 

"  I  detest  representative  women !"  said  Lady 
Katharine.  "  It  is  bad  enough  to  live  on  a  platform 
before  one's  friends,  worse  within  one's  own  home, 
but  worst  of  all  to  live  on  a  platform  before  one's- 
self,  set  up  in  the  midst  of  one's  own  heart.  I  do 
not  know  what  is  to  be  done  with  people  who  are 
unnatural  all  through,  and  yet  there  is  a  style  of 
religious  people  who  are  in  danger  of  being  so. 
You  feel  sure  that  they  say  their  prayers,  when 
alone,  in  the  most  elegant  language,  fit  to  be  trans- 
ferred without  correction  from  the  diary  to  the 
press.  Well,  Cecil,  what  did  you  say  to  Mrs. 
Dee?" 

"I  could  only  say  the  truth,  Aunt  Katharine, 
which  was  that  I  was  afraid  I  had  not  thought  of 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  271 

representing  anything  or  producing  any  particular 
effect  at  all  (at  least  not  any  moral  effect),  by  dress, 
or  music,  or  buying  pictures,  or  doing  anything 
else  I  liked  ;  but  simply  of  my  husband's  taste  and 
my  own.  Of  course  it  was  not  the  highest  motive. 
But  it  seems  to  me  terrible  if  religion  is  to  make 
people  do  these  simplest  things  with  the  idea  of 
producing  some  effect,  or  accomplishing  a  purpose. 
It  seems  almost  as  bad  as  the  opposite  extreme  of 
worldliness.  How  is  one  ever  really  to  know  people 
who  are  doing  anything  not  spontaneously  or  natu- 
rally, but  with  the  purpose  of  doing  you  or  some 
one  good  ?  All  the  time  I  am  with  Mrs.  Dee,  I  feel 
as  if  I  were  in  a  theatre,  and  she  were  acting  a 
kind  of  sacred  drama  for  the  good  of  me  and  the 
rest  of  the  world.  When  I  take  leave  of  her,  I  no 
more  feel  I  have  advanced  a  step  to  acquaint- 
ance with  her  real  self  than  if  I  had  been  seeing  her 
represent  Mrs.  Hannah  More's  'Jochabed,'  The 
sentiments  are  excellent,  the  principles  uncontro- 
vertible,  but  of  the  person  I  know  nothing.  And 
yet,  of  course,  doing  good  is  the  highest  object  to 
live  for?" 

"  Is  it  ?"  said  Lady  Katharine.  "  Does  not  lov- 
ing come  first  ?  Do  not  being  good  and  pleasing 
God  come  a  little  before  it  ?  You  had  better  look 
in  the  Bible,  Cecil,  and  see.  But  go  on  about  your 
district.  I  suppose  the  poor  did  not  enjoy  Mrs. 
Dee  much  more  than  you  did  ?" 

"  I  am  afraid  she  ruffled  a  good  many  tempers. 
But  the  people  seemed  to  me  wonderfully  patient 
on  the  whole.  I  think  some  of  them  felt  that  it 


272  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

was  their  duty  to  pay  for  her  kindness  by  listening 
to  her  exhortations.  Besides,  no  one  can  contro- 
vert anything  she  says.  That  is  almost  the  most 
provoking  part  of  it.  She  told  the  people  in  afflic- 
tion that  tribulation  was  a  blessing.  She  told  the 
sick  people  that  sickness  is  a  blessing.  She  told 
the  bereaved  that  it  is  a  blessing  to  have  our  friends 
at  rest.  She  met  complaints  and  lamentations  with 
admirable  essays  on  thankfulness.  Indeed  she  said 
so  many  excellent  things  that  I  should  feel  quite 
hopeless  as  to  succeeding  her,  except  that  there  is 
just  one  thing  she  did  not  do,  which  I  think  I 
could.  I  could  listen.  And  that  Mrs.  Dee  never 
does.  She  says  it  would  never  do  to  encourage 
gossip.  Some  of  the  people  would  talk  on  for  ever, 
if  you  would  let  them.  Yet,  Aunt  Katharine,  if 
one  does  not  listen,  I  don't  see  how  one  ever  is  to 
know  people  or  to  help  them.  The  people  must 
always  remain  mere  arithmetical  figures  to  us,  or 
adjectives  without  substantives.  But,  perhaps,  if 
I  were  to  sit  patiently  by  one  or  two  of  the  sick- 
beds, by  degrees  the  sick  people  might  talk  to  me 
a  little,  as  they  do  to  you,  and  I  might  get  to  know 
a  few  of  them.  Of  course  it  would  waste  a  great 
deal  of  time,  but  my  time  is  not  so  valuable  as 
Mrs.  Dee's,  and  it  does  seem  to  comfort  poor  people 
in  trouble  to  pour  out  the  trouble,  so  I  think  I 
shall  try." 

"  I  see,"  said  Lady  Katharine,  "  Mrs.  Dee  is  one 
of  the  people  who  travel  by  railway,  always  on 
their  own  line.  Sometimes  their  rails  cross  your 
path,  and  then,  perhaps,  they  stop  till  you  pass  j 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  273 

or  perhaps  they  don't,  and  then  if  you  are  persist- 
ent there  is  a  collision.  But  whatever  happens, 
they  never  leave  their  rails  and  silently  walk  with 
you  for  a  time  on  your  path.  Such  people  get 
over  a  great  deal  of  ground,  and  think  they  see  a 
great  deal  of  the  world;  but  they  only  see  the 
world  as  a  colored  map,  and  they  only  see  people 
as  figures  in  a  landscape.  I  know  a  little  about 
it,  Cecil,"  she  said,  laughing ;  "  for  I  am  apt  my- 
self now  and  then  to  travel  in  the  same  way.  I 
generally  find  it  out  by  a  collision  ;  and  then  for  a 
time  I  get  out,  and  walk,  and  learn  a  little." 

"  What  tried  me  most,  however,"  resumed  Mrs. 
O'Brien,  "  were  the  lectures  on  management  and  on 
contentment,  and  the  tone  of  superiority." 

"  The  case  is  very  plain — Mrs.  Dee  is  not  a  gentle- 
woman," said  Lady  Katharine,  carelessly.  "  No 
persons  ought  to  be  permitted  to  visit  the  poor  who 
have  not  proved  themselves  thoroughly  well-bred." 

"  Mrs.  Dee  is  very  well-connected,  Aunt  Katha- 
rine." 

"  Very  probably.  Most  people  are  in  one  direc- 
tion or  another.  But  I  was  thinking  of  a  standard 
of  good  breeding,  not  to  be  determined  by  Burke 
or  Debrett." 

For  some  minutes  they  had  been  standing  in  the 
library,  where  Maurice  was  reading  in  a  deep  bay- 
window. 

"  There,  Cecil,  lay  your  case  before  Maurice," 
said  Lady  Katharine.  "  He  is  too  great  a  Jesuit 
not  to  be  a  good  casuist.  Maurice,"  she  concluded, 
addressing  him,  "  I  really  cannot  stand  that  way  of 


274  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

yours  of  listening  surreptitiously  behind  the  screen 
of  that  old  folio.  You  know  you  have  heard  every 
word  we  have  been  saying  for  the  last  ten  minutes. 
Now  tell  us,  what  is  your  aunt  to  do  with  Mrs. 
Dee  ?" 

"  I  was  just  reading  a  passage  in  Stier's  Reden 
Jesu,  Aunt  Katharine,  which  seems  rather  to  the 
purpose.  He  says  some  people,  like  the  rabbis 
among  the  Pharisees,  have  occupied  themselves  so 
incessantly  with  teaching,  that  they  have  lost  the 
divine  art  of  learning" 

"Very  well;  let  that  settle  Mrs.  Dee,  Cecil 
And  now  for  links  with  the  poor.  How  is  a  lady, 
residing  in  the  greatest  comfort  in  a  suburb  near 
the  west  of  London,  to  acquire  natural  links  with 
poor  people,  living  in  the  greatest  discomfort  six  or 
seven  miles  off  in  the  east  of  London  ?" 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Maurice,  "  there  are  natural 
links  between  every  sinning,  suffering,  mortal  hu- 
man being,  if  we  dig  deep  enough  for  them ;  and," 
he  added  gravely,  "  there  is,  I  believe,  one  Mediator 
not  only  between  God  and  man,  but  between  man 
and  man — the  man  Christ  Jesus." 

Mrs.  O'Brien  looked  up  thoughtfully,  as  if  she 
were  trying  to  see  through  a  telescope,  to  which 
her  eyes  were  not  accustomed. 

There  was  a  little  silence,  and  then  Lady  Katha- 
rine said : 

"  I  suppose  that  little  Grace  knows  more  practi- 
cally about  the  matter  than  any  of  us.  I  sent  her 
twice,  to  her  great  delight,  to  take  a  dinner  to  old 
Granny  Coxe,  the  Grossest  old  woman  in  the  parish, 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  275 

Yesterday,  when  I  called  on  granny  myself,  I  said, 
*  Well,  granny,  how  did  you  like  my  little  messen- 
ger ?'  *  Better  than  the  new  parson,  at  any  rate,' 
replied  granny,  who  never  can  bring  in  a  commen- 
dation except  as  a  seasoning  to  fault-finding.  '  She 
can  read  her  Bible  plain  enough  for  folks  to  under- 
stand, any  way.  And  I  might  be  worse  off  than  I 
be,  I  don't  say  I  mightn't.  The  apostle  Paul  was 
bad  off  enough,  sure,  in  the  stocks  ;  and  he  and  the 
other  did  sing.  Of  course,  as  I  told  her,  it  isn't  to 
be  expected  a  old  woman  like  me  should  sing  ;  and 
no  one  would  find  it  much  pleasure  to  listen  if  I 
did.  But  I  might,  perhaps,  tell  the  Lord  I  am 
pleased  with  things  now  and  then,  if  he  cares  about 
it,  and  little  miss  says  he  do.  I've  half  a  mind  to 
try.  She  sings  like  a  lark.'  '  Grace,'  I  said  that 
evening,  ;  what  have  you  been  doing  to  Granny 
Coxe  ?  She  thinks  you  sing  like  a  lark,  and  are 
better  than  a  parson.'  '  Please,  Lady  Katharine,' 
said  Grace,  blushing,  *  I  don't  remember  saying  any- 
thing particular.  But  I  felt  very  sorry  for  poor  old 
granny.  It  must  be  so  very  sad  to  have  got  into  a 
way  of  looking  on  the  dark  side  of  things.  The 
Bible  says,  you  know,  we  are  to  bear  one  another's 
burdens  ;  and  I  only  tried  to  help  granny  bear  her 
burden  a  little  while,  and  to  tell  her  that  Jesus  was 
always  near,  and  always  would,  if  she  wished.  It 
must  be  such  a  heavy  burden  not  to  be  able  to  feel 
grateful  to  God.'  I  said  no  more  to  Grace,"  con- 
cluded Lady  Katharine ;  "  but  I  believe  she  has 
got  to  the  root  of  the  subject.  She  just  stoops 
down  by  the  people  she  wants  to  help,  and  takes 


276  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

up  the  burden;  and  in  that  way  she  not  only 
lightens  the  load  to  them  for  the  time,  but  shows 
them  the  way  to  lighten  themselves." 

"  Poor  little  Grace  !"  said  Maurice  gravely ;  "  I 
am  afraid  she  has  had  too  much  of  helping  to  bear 
burdens  in  her  short  life." 

At  that  moment  the  happy  sound  of  children's 
laughter  came  in  at  the  open  window.  There  were 
Harry's  boyish  shouts  and  Winnie's  laugh  ringing 
up  and  down  among  the  trees,  with^those  delicious 
echoes  which  the  merry  voices  of  children  make 
among  avenues  of  old  trees  and  the  walls  of  old 
mansions.  And  between  these  louder  sounds  came 
floating  now  and  then  a  softer  sound,  silvery  and 
low,  yet  joyous  as  either. 

"  That  must  be  little  Grace,"  sai$  Maurice.  "  Her 
smile  is  often  as  bright  as  laughter,  but  I  never 
heard  her  laugh  before." 

And  going  to  the  window,  they  saw  the  children 
in  an  ecstasy  of  fun,  sharing  the  gambols  of  a  huge 
Newfoundland  and  an  audacious  little  bully  of  a 
Skye  terrier. 

"We  need  'not  fear  that  the  child's  heart  is 
pressed  out  of  that  happy,  loving,  little  woman," 
said  Lady  Katharine. 

"  Or  ever  will  be,"  said  Maurice,  half  to  himself. 
"  It  is  distrust  of  the  Father's  heart  alone  that  can 
press  the  child's  heart  out  of  any  of  us ;  not  sor- 
row, not  repentance,  not  care  from  without,  only 
care  from  within ;  and  that  is  distrust  of  God." 

"  Not  one  drawing,  Grace,  for  a  fortnight !"  said 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  277 

Maurice,  as  he  was  showing  her  a  portfolio  of  old 
Italian  line-engravings  that  evening.  Mr.  Leigh 
was  reading  aloud  at  the  other  end  of  the  room  to 
Lady  Katharine  and  Mrs.  O'Brien,  while  Winnie* 
and  Harry  were  deep  in  a  game  of  draughts. 

"  Please  Mr.  Bertram,  I  don't  think  I  could  help 
it,"  said  Grace,  apologizing.  "  I  have  been  getting 
to  know  the  things." 

"  What  things,  Grace  ?" 

"  The  homes  and  cradles  of  all  the  creatures," 
said  Grace.  "  I  have  seen  where  the  limpets  live, 
and  the  fish,  I  have  seen  them  browsing  on  the 
sea-weed  on  the  rocks,  and  glancing  in  and  out  of 
the  tiny  forests  under  the  sea,  just  as  the  birds  do 
in  the  woods  on  the  land.  Some  of  the  tiny  trees 
in  the  pools  have  little  crimson  branches,  as  if  it  was 
real  fairy-land,  and  they  were  cut  out  of  precious 
stones ;  and  little  creatures  with  heads  like  stars 
come  and  sit  among  them,  and  sway  their  little 
starry  crowns  about,  and  look  so  at  home  and 
happy.  If  you  keep  still,  and  look  down  and 
down,  it  is  wonderful  what  you  find  out  in  those 
clear  pools.  Being  in  another  world,  I  suppose  the 
creatures  do  not  mind  us,  and  so  are  not  frightened, 
but  let  us  look  into  the  middle  of  their  homes,  and 
see  them  at  work  and  at  play.  Do  you  think,  Mr. 
Bertram,  that  perhaps  they  really  do  not  see  us  ?" 

"  I  suppose  they  feel  our  shadows  when  we  hide 
the  sun  from  them,  Grace,"  he  said,  guessing  her 
thoughts.  "  But  why  do  you  ask  ?" 

"  Because  it  would  be  so  pleasant  to  think  they 
didn't  see  us.  It  would  help  us  so  much,  I  think." 
24 


278  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

"  How,  Grace  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Because  of  our  other  world,  you  know,"  she 
said  softly,  "  that  we  cannot  see  into.  It  would 
help  us  to  understand  those  who  are  there  watch- 
ing us  unseen.  Don't  you  think  so  ?" 

"  Perhaps  it  might." 

"  Because,  you  know,"  she  continued,  "  we  are 
better  off  than  the  creatures  in  the  pools  with  their 
other  world.  When  they  feel  the  shadow  come 
between  them  and  the  sun,  it  must  puzzle  them  so 
much.  They  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  creep  into 
their  holes  till  it  is  light  again.  But  we  have." 

"  What  can  we  do,  Grace  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  know,  Mr.  Bertram,"  she  said,  with 
her  sudden  smile,  "  we  can  speak  to  our  Sun,  can't 
we  ?  And  our  Sun  can  shine  through  any  shadow, 
can  He  not  ?" 

"  Grace,"  he  said,  "  you  are  a  very  happy  crea- 
ture if  you  have  found  out  this." 

"I  am  very  happy,"  said  Grace  simply. 

"  And  what  other  cradles  and  homes  have  you 
found  ?"  he  said. 

"  Those  of  the  flowers,"  she  said,  "  the  kind  of 
green  banks  that  the  primroses  love,  and  the  violets, 
by  roadsides  and  in  deep  lanes,  and  in  all  the  hedges, 
and  on  the  edges  of  woods,  and  in  all  kinds  of 
sweet,  homely,  every-day  places.  And  then  the 
ferns  ;  and  the  large-leaved  water-plants  breasting 
the  brooks,  bathing  in  them  and  enjoying  the  de- 
licious wet,  always  flowing  round  them,  and  over 
them,  and  through  them." 

"  And  what  else,  Grace  ?  " 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  279 

"  I  have  seen  the  cradles  of  the  rivers  them- 
selves," she  said.  "  I  know  one  which  bubbles  out 
of  the  hill-side,  in  a  very  tiny  cave  with  a  roof  of 
lovely  mosses,  and  has  a  little  floor  of  sand  and 
pebbles,  and  then  trickles  down  and  begins  to  sing 
at  once.  And  I  know  another  more  like  a  real  baby 
river,  scarcely  able  to  speak  at  all.  You  only  see 
it  by  the  green  of  everything  about  it,  and  you  only 
hear  it,  if  you  listen  very  quietly,  making  a  very 
little  soft  purring  around  the  roots  of  the  grasses. 
So  now  I  know  what  I  have  always  wished  to  know, 
what  kind  of  a  cradle  the  river  at  home  comes  from, 
and  what  kind  of  a  world  it  is  going  to  in  the  great 
sea.  And  those  will  be  such  delightful  things  to 
think  of  always.  Indeed  I  have  had  no  time  yet 
to  draw,  Mr.  Bertram.  Painting,  even  really  beau- 
tiful painting,  seems  only  to  give  such  a  little  bit 
of  the  outside  of  things,  does  it  ?  just  the  beautiful 
color  and  shape.  And  there  are  such  hundreds  of 
other  beautiful  things  about  everything,  besides 
color  and  shape.  All  the  rustling  in  the  leaves,  and 
the  coolness  of  the  rain  and  dew,  and  then  all  the 
delicious  smells  and  tastes  of  the  air,  the  salt  sea 
tastes,  and  the  smell  of  the  old  fir  trees  like  incense 
in  the  sunshine,  and  of  the  grass  just  mown,  and 
of  the  earth  when  it  has  been  raining,  to  say  no- 
thing of  the  flowers,  so  sweet,  and  every  one  of 
them  different." 

Grace's  treasury  was  quite  unlocked.  Mr.  Ber- 
tram was  her  oldest  friend  among  her  new  friends. 
And  he  was  by  nature  a  listener.  And  like 
Winnie,  and  Dan,  and  most  others  loved  by 


28o  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

Maurice,  she  felt  lie  would  not  misunderstand 
her. 

"  I  see,"  said  Maurice  at  length,  "  you  do  not 
mean  to  draw  any  more,  until  you  can  find  some 
kind  of  brush  or  pencil  that  will  paint  wetness  and 
coolness,  and  salt  sea  tastes,  and  the  smell  of  roses, 
or  of  new-mown  hay.  When  you  are  at  home  again 
then,  Grace,  will  you  care  no  more  to  see  the  land- 
scapes in  the  Academy  ?" 

"  Oh,  ten  times  more  than  ever,  Mr.  Bertram," 
she  said.  "  I  shall  feel  the  fresh  air,  and  the  sweet 
smells,  and  everything  now,  whenever  I  look  at 
those  pictures  of  the  sea,  and  the  rivers,  and  the 
birds'  nests." 

"  But  you  will  despair  of  painting  yourself?" 

"  I  do  not  think  I  shall,"  she  said.  "  I  think  I 
shall  enjoy  more  every  leaf  and  flower  I  sketch, 
now  I  know  about  their  homes  in  the  woods.  It 
will  be  like  painting  portraits  of  people  you  love." 

At  last  a  wet  day  came.  Mr.  Leigh  was  su- 
premely happy  among  shelves  of  Reformation  di- 
vinity in  a  rather  disused  corner  of  the  library. 
Maurice  had  been  initiating  Harry,  in  the  hall,  into 
the  mysteries  of  billiards.  Grace  and  Winnie  were 
busy  copying  flowers.  The  methods  of  the  two 
little  artists  were  as  different  as  their  characters. 
Winnie  dashed  at  once  into  the  midst  of  her  opera- 
tions, and  had  drawn  and  rubbed  out  numbers  of 
outlines  almost  before  Grace  had  begun  to  use  her 
pencil. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  Grace  ?"  she  said. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  28l 

"  I  am  beginning  to  see  it  all,"  said  Grace ;  "  I 
can  never  draw  anything  until  I  begin  to  know  it, 
and  it  makes  itself  into  a  picture  in  my  eyes." 

Winnie  evidently  thought  this  a  weak  and  slow 
proceeding ;  but  soon  Grace  began,  and  before  long 
she  had  made  a  graceful,  delicate  outline,  and  was 
ready  to  color,  while  poor  Winnie's  paper  was  so 
rough  with  corrections  that  it  was  doubtful  if  it 
would  take  color  at  all. 

"  It  is  very  strange,  Grace,"  said  Winnie,  "  that 
things  will  not  come  right  to-day ;"  the  wilfulness 
of  things  being  an  established  article  of  Winnie's 
creed. 

Grace's  pencil  was  laid  aside  in  a  moment,  and 
a  few  encouraging  words  and  hints  soon  restored 
Winnie's  hopefulness,  and  set  Grace  free  for  her 
second  little  contemplation  of  the  flowers  before 
trying  to  paint. 

In  this  she  was  speedily  so  absorbed  that  she 
was  conscious  of  nothing  until  she  heard  a  sudden 
tearing  of  Winnie's  hapless  paper,  and  felt  a  flushed 
little  cheek  pressing  against  hers,  not  without  tears 
on  it. 

"  I  am  not  jealous,  Grace !"  said  the  faltering 
little  voice.  "  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  !  I  feel  sure  I  am 
not !  I  do  so  love  you  for  being  so  clever  and 
doing  everything  so  beautifully.  If  God  has  not 
made  me  clever,  Grace,  you  know  I  cannot  help  it, 
can  I  ?  I  will  just  sit  still  and  look  at  you.  And 
oh,  Grace,  I  am  so  glad,  I  feel  I  like  it.  And  I  am 
more  glad  of  that  than  if  I  could  draw  like  you. 
Because  I  don't  think  jealous  people  like  to  see 


282  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

other  people  do  things  better;  do  they,  Grace? 
And  Rosalie  said  I  was  jealous.  And,  oh,  I  do 
hope  I  am  not.  Grace,"  she  continued  reveren- 
tially, "  you  are  a  genius.  Rosalie  said  so.  I  feel 
sure  you  are.  But  if  you  should  ever  have  crowns 
put  on  you,  as  Rosalie  says  they  do  sometimes  to 
geniuses  in  the  Capitol  at  Rome,  you  won't  forget 
me,  will  you  ?  For  I  do  love  you  so  dearly." 

Grace  was  so  entirely  confused  between  Winnie's 
outburst  of  humility  and  affection,  her  vehement 
destruction  of  her  morning's  work,  and  the  vision 
of  her  own  flower  painting  ending  in  anything  so 
exceedingly  disagreeable  as  to  have  to  sit  on  a  plat- 
form at  Rome  with  a  crowd  of  people  gazing  at 
her,  that  she  could  not  at  all  collect  her  thoughts. 

Happily  Maurice  had  entered  before  the  conclu- 
sion of  Winnie's  speech,  and  he  took  the  matter  into 
his  own  hands.  First,  he  looked  with  no  small  plea- 
sure at  his  little  sister's  bright,  earnest,  truthful  face. 
There  was  such  unfeigned  love  and  delight  in  it  as 
she  looked  at  Grace  and  her  drawing,  that  he  said  to 
himself:  "  She  has  reason  to  be  glad.  Love  has 
slain  envy  in  her  heart,  as  only  love  can."  But  he 
knew  that  little  eager,  impetuous  heart  had  many 
a  lesson  yet  to  learn.  And  taking  up  the  torn 
drawing  he  said : 

"  Who  could  be  so  stupid  as  to  tear  this  ?  It  is 
the  best  sketch,  Winnie,  you  ever  made." 

"  I  am  never  going  to  sketch  any  more,"  said  Win- 
nie ;  "  I  am  going  to  look  at  Grace."  • 

"  A  very  profitable  employment,  I  dare  say,"  he 
said ;  "  but  suppose  Grace  were  to  give  up  drawing 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  283 

also,  and  take  to  looking  at  Michael  Angelo  ?  Don't 
you  think,"  he  continued,  turning  to  Grace,  "  that 
it  is  rather  presumptuous  for  any  one  to  attempt 
to  paint  in  a  world  where  there  are  pictures  by 
Raphael  and  Michael  Angelo  ?" 

Grace  thought  a  minute,  and  then  she  said : 

"  It  is  so  difficult  to  help  sketching  beautiful 
things  when  you  see  them.  And  then  doesn't  it 
make  us  enjoy  the  great  pictures  more  ?  Besides," 
she  continued  softly,  "  ought  we  to  think  if  we  are 
doing  better  or  worse  than  other  people  ?  Ought 
we  not  to  try  the  best  we  can  ?" 

"  But  it  is  not  every  ones'  duty  to  be  an  artist." 

"  No ;  but  it  is  every  one's  duty,  isn't  it,  to  use 
what  God  has  given  them  ?  It  isn't  only  the  roses 
and  the  thrushes,  is  it,  that  make  the  sweet  sounds 
and  the  sweet  smells  which  make  the  summer  ?  It 
is  all  the  little  chirpings  and  breathings  that  help, 
don't  they,  down  to  the  grasshoppers,  and  the  very 
little  blades  of  grass  ?" 

"  I  think  they  do..  The  world  would  be  very  poor 
in  music  if  all  the  second  best  was  left  out.  We 
should  have  no  choruses,  Winnie,  only  one  or  two 
great  solos,  now  and  then.  I  think  one  great  les- 
son in  humility  is  to  do  our  very  best,  when  we 
know  it  can  only  be  second  best.  It  is  harder  to  do 
second  best  then  than  to  do  nothing.  And  now  I 
will  tell  you  a  parable  by  a  poet  older  than  Homer : 

"  *  The  trees  went  forth  on  a  time  to  anoint  a  king 
over  them ;  and  they  said  to  the  olive-tree,  Reign 
thou  over  us. 

"  *  But  the  olive-tree  said  unto  them,  Should  I 


284  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

leave  my  fatness,  wherewith  by  me  they  honor  God 
and  man,  and  go  to  be  promoted  over  the  trees  ? 

"  *  And  the  trees  said  to  the  fig-tree,  Come  thou, 
and  reign  over  us. 

"  *  But  the  fig-tree  said  unto  them,  Should  I  for- 
sake my  sweetness,  and  my  good  fruit,  and  go  to  be 
promoted  over  the  trees  ? 

" '  Then  said  the  trees  unto  the  vine,  Come  thou, 
and  reign  over  us. 

"  *  And  the  vine  said  unto  them,  Should  I  leave 
my  wine,  which  cheereth  God  and  man,  and  go  to 
be  promoted  over  the  trees  ? 

"  c  Then  said  all  the  trees  unto  the  bramble,  Come 
thou,  and  reign  over  us. 

" c  And  the  bramble  said  unto  the  trees,  If  in 
truth  ye  anoint  me  king  over  you,  then  come  and 
put  your  trust  in  my  shadow.'  " 

"  That  is  no  new  parable,  Maurice,"  said  "Winnie. 
"It  is  in  the  Bible." 

"  It  is :  a  good  deal  of  the  Bible  is  older  than 
Homer,  you  know.  But  you  see  it  is  only  brambles 
who  set  their  hearts  on  being  first.  The  trees  which 
bear  fruits  are  too  busy  in  doing  their  best,  to  think 
of  being  first." 

"  Maurice,"  said  Winnie,  "  I  shall  put  this  poor 
torn  drawing  together  and  gum  it  on  a  card,  and 
finish  it  as  well  as  I  can,  and  put  it  on  the  wall  of 
my  own  room.  I  am  not  going  to  be  a  bramble.  The 
shadow  of  a  bramble,  conceited  thing  !"  she  added 
laughing.  "  Oh  if  I  cannot  be  any  thing  better 
than  a  bramble,  Maurice,"  she  concluded  softly, 
rising  and  drawing  his  hand  over  her  forehead,  "  I 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  285 

will  be  busy  about  my  blackberries,  and  you  and 
Grace  shall  be  my  vine  and  my  fig-tree,  and  I  will 
look  up  and  delight  in  you  both." 

And  Maurice  said  softly : 

"  There  is  a  country  where  the  fruits  most  prized 
are  not  works  of  art,  but  works  of  love ;  or  rather, 
not  works  at  all,  but  the  love  that  inspires  them. 
Love,  joy,  peace,  gentleness,  goodness.  When  we 
get  there,  Winnie,  we  shall  see  which  were  the 
blackberries,  and  which  the  grapes.  Till  then  we 
will  each  do  the  best  we. can." 

Happy  days  those  were  at  Combe  Monachorum 
to  the  children,  each  day  a  life  of  delight ;  mornings 
eager  in  schemes,  noon-tides  busy  in  fulfillment, 
evenings  rich  in  recollections.  Harry  growing  into 
a  daring  manly  boy,  Grace  shaking  out  the  folds  of 
her  too  careful  childhood  and  gliding  into  a  joyous 
happy  child.  Winifred,  on  the  other  side,  in  her 
great  love  and  reverence  for  Grace,  beginning  to 
rise  from  the  petted  child  into  the  womanly  con- 
sider ateness  of  Grace,  and  into  the  high  loving 
heavenward  aim  which  Grace  unconsciously  blended 
with  every  thing.  So  all  their  characters  were 
moulding  each  other,  as  loving  intercourse  does 
always  mould,  not  into  copies  of  each  other,  but 
each  into  its  own  perfection. 

But  at  length  the  last  day  came,  the  last  scram- 
ble over  the  rocks,  the  last  ramble  through  the 
great  woods,  the  last  lingering  on  the  cliffs,  looking 
out  at  the  last  sunset  over  the  purple  sea. 

Winnie  was  sitting    with  Grace  on  the   short 


286  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

grass,  twining  her  arms  around  her,  very  plaintive, 
and  ready  to  cry  on  the  smallest  incentive. 

"  But  there  is  one  difference,  Winnie,  you  know," 
said  Grace,  after  a  silence  of  some  minutes,  "  be- 
tween this  sea  and  the  Sea  of  Galilee.  That  sea 
had  another  side." 

"  I  wish  this  had,"  said  Winnie,  with  a  little 
moan  seeing  the  image  of  her  great  sorrow  of  the 
morrow  in  everything.  "  It  is  quite  dreadful  here 
to-night,  looking  on  and  on  into  nothing.  It  is  just 
what  I  shall  feel  to-morrow,  Grace,  when  you  are 
gone."  And  she  burst  into  a  passipnate  flood  of 
tears. 

"  But  there  is  another  side  to  this  sea,  you  know, 
Winnie,  really,"  pursued  Grace,  who  had  been  too 
much  accustomed  from  that  first  day  of  her  moth- 
er's funeral,  to  repress  her  own  feelings  and  to 
soothe  other  people's,  to  be  very  easily  moved  to 
tears.  "  There  is  another  side  to  everything  that 
troubles  us,  only  our  sight  does  not  reach  far  en- 
ough to  see  it." 

"  Then  it  is  just  as  melancholy  for  us  as  if  there 
were  none,"  sobbed  Winnie.  "  To-morrow  seems 
like  the  end  of  everything — of  everything." 

"  But  it  is  only  the  beginning,"  said  Grace,  ten- 
derly, "  you  are  not  going  to  give  me  up,  Winnie." 

A  fervent  kiss  and  a  sob  were  the  only  possible 
replies. 

Then  after  sitting  some  minutes  in  silence,  while 
Winnie's  tears  spent  themselves  a  little,  Grace  said : 

"I  am  so  glad,  Winnie,  the  Bible  does  not  give 
us  the  ends  of  things,  but  only  the  beginnings." 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  287 

"  Oh  !"  said  Winnie,  "  are  you  ?  I  know  it  must 
be,  but  I  ahvays  wish  it  didn't.  I  do  so  want  to 
know  what  became  of  the  people." 

"But  we  shall  know,"  said  Grace,  "the  Bible 
makes  us  know  the  people.  And  by-and-by  we 
shall  know  all  their  stories.  Because,  you  know,  it 
is  not  a  book  of  stories,  but  a  book  of  introductions 
to  our  friends." 

"But,"  said  Winnie  passionately,  "I  shall  not 
want  to  have  so  many  new  friends  in  heaven, 
Grace,  I  shall  want  the  old  ones,  you,  and  Maurice, 
and  Aunty,  and  all.  And  if  you  were  to  care  more 
for  the  people  in  the  Bible  than  for  me,  I  am  afraid 
I  should  not  be  happy  at  all.  It  would  be  very 
dreadful,"  she  concluded,  "  to  be  jealous  of  Abra- 
ham, Isaac,  and  Jacob  ;  only  of  course  if  we  were 
all  in  heaven,  I  shouldn't  be  jealous,  Grace,  so  I 
needn't  trouble  myself  about  that  need  I  ?" 

Grace  did  not  answer  for  a  moment,  and  then  she 
said  very  tenderly : 

"I  think  God  will  love  us  so  very  much  in 
heaven,  and  we  shall  love  him  so  very  much,  and 
each  other,  that  there  will  be  no  room  for  jealousy." 

"  It  will  be  each  other,  Gracie  ?  Not  all  good 
people  only,  but  each  other,  you  and  I  will  it  not  ? 
There  will  be  so  many !  Yet  we  will  not  forget 
each  other,  or  lose  each  other,  shall  we  ?" 

"  If  we  did,  it  would  be  just  the  same  as  losing 
ourselves,"  said  Grace,  in  her  quiet  way,  "  And  I 
do  not  think  it  would  be  living  at  all,  it  would  only 
be  dreaming,  forgetting  from  one  time  to  another 
what  we  were  and  what  we  did,  as  we  do  in  our 


288  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

dreams.     This  world  one  dream,  and  the  next  an- 
other dream.     And  God  never  meant  that." 

Winnie  was  satisfied.  And  so  ended  the  last 
conversation  at  Combe  Monachorum. 

The  tea-table  was  spread  in  Mr.  Treherne's 
lodgings,  in  Mrs.  Treherne's  very  best  china  teaser- 
vice  ; — the  brown  curtains  fell  in  heavy  discordant 
masses,  on  the  gaudy  carpet,  uncovered  for  the  fes- 
tive occasion  of  the  return  of  Mr.  Leigh,  and 
Grace,  and  Harry. 

"  I  didn't  order  a  fowl,  Miss  Grace,  although 
you  wrote,"  said  Mrs.  Treherne,  "  the  man  wanted 
six  shillings  a  couple,  and  I  couldn't  abide  that  you 
should  be  so  imposed  on.  If  he  would  have  taken 
off  threepence,  I  might  have  bought  it,  but  he 
would  not  be  beat  down  a  penny.  But  I  have  got 
a  beautiful  tender  steak,  my  dear.  And  it'll  be 
ready  hi  no  time." 

For  six  weeks  Grace  had  been  freed  from  all 
housekeeping  cares,  and  all  thoughts  of  the  cost  of 
anything.  The  disputed  threepence  brought  her 
down  at  once  to  the  old  fetters  twined  of  ten 
thousand  Lilliputian  threads.  She  felt  ashamed  to 
feel  what  fetters  they  were. 

So  she  had  recourse  to  a  remedy  very  usual  with 
her.  Sh  went  to  her  room  and  locked  the  door, 
and  when  she  had  got  ready  to  come  down,  she 
knelt  down  and  prayed  through  the  Lord's  Prayer. 
"  After  this  manner  pray  ye,"  HE  had  said,  and 
she  tried  to  obey,  applying  the  deep,  simple  words 
to  the  circumstances  of  the  moment.  But  with  the 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  289 

first  words  her  heart  rose  with  such  a  spring,  she 
scarcely  needed  to  go  further,  "  Our  Father.  Yes  it 
is  Thou  that  orderest  all ;  ten  thousand  little  cares 
are  but  the  pressure  of  Thy  hand.  Thy  will  be  done, 
now — to-day,  by  me,  to  me.  Give  its  this  day  our 
daily  bread.  It  is  not  purchased  with  threepence 
then  but  given  us,  just  the  very  best  for  us,  direct 
from  Thee  our  Father  in  heaven." 

So  it  happened  that  when  Grace  went  down  to 
make  her  father's  tea,  she  felt  not  bound  by  the 
cramping  chain  of  ten  thousand  Lilliputian  fetters, 
but  bowing  under  that  happy  yoke  beneath  which 
the  lowly  walk  at  liberty. 

And  the  smile  with  which  she  returned  little 
Fan's  torrent  of  courtesies,  as  she  stood  in  all  the 
importance  of  a  new  white  apron  carrying  up  the 
steak,  was  such  a  sunbeam  of  a  smile  that  little  Fan 
felt  it  as  good  as  a  kiss. 

And  when  Mr.  Leigh,  tea  being  removed,  sat  down 
by  the  fire  with  Grace  at  her  sewing  beside  him,  and 
the  rain  pattering  on  the  window-panes,  and  Harry 
drawing  out  his  treasures  x>f  shells  and  stones  on  a 
tray  on  the  table,  and  the  large  black  cat,  sleepily 
winking  at  the  fire,  and  purring  to  herself,  "  Now 
the  world  is  going  on  again,  and  I  am  in  the  middle 
of  it,  in  the  warmest  place,"  and  (unmindful  of  dis- 
cords between  carpet  and  curtains,  or  any  discords 
else),  Mr.  Leigh  said,  "Ah,  Grace,  after  all,  there  is 
no  place  like  home,"  no  visions  of  stately  halls,  and 
free  sea-shores,  and  beautiful  woods,  broke  the  echo 
of  those  words  on  Grace's  heart.  She  looked  round 
25 


290  WJN1FRED  BERTRAM. 

at  her  mother's  work-table,  and  at  Harry's  ancestral 
desk,  and  at  the  old  square  piano  under  which  they 
had  made  lions'  dens,  and  up  in  her  father's  face, 
and  felt  how  wonderfully  happy  she  was  to  have  so 
many  to  love,  and  two  such  dear  ones  of  her  very 
own  to  live  for,  and  plan  for,  and  give  up  things 
for.  And  she  said : 

"Ah,  father,  I  suppose  the  grandest  palace  in  the 
world  may  be  a  home,  if  people  love  each  other 
there.  Inside  all  the  state,  I  suppose,  people  make 
each  other  a  home.  But  we  have  no  outside  courts, 
have  we  ?  Our  home  is  home  all  through." 

But  neither  Mr.  Leigh  nor  Grace  knew  how  much 
of  that  home  was  made  the  home  it  was  by  the  lit- 
tle loving,  truthful  heart  within  it,  that  was  at  rest 
all  through. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


[] RACE  LEIGH'S  reception,  when  she  came 
back  among  her  old  friends,  was  very 
varied.  Mrs.  Treherne  was  decidedly 
impressed  by  the  fact  of  her  lodgers  hav- 
ing been  the  guests,  as  she  said,  of  a  "  lady  in  her 
own  right."  The  second  reflection  of  this  glory  on 
herself  had,  indeed,  not  a  little  increased  her  con- 
scious dignity  at  sundry  tea-parties.  But  when  she 
was  actually  brought  into  contact  with  the  first  re- 
flection in  the  person  of  Grace,  her  own  dignity,  in- 
herent and  acquired,  paled  sensibly  before  so  near 
an  approach  to  the  source  of  the  light,  so  that  her 
manner  to  Grace,  for  the  first  two  or  three  days,  at 
least,  had  a  certain  awe  in  it,  not  natural  to  Mrs. 
Treherne.  Miss  Grace  had  been  waited  on  by  but- 
lers and  footmen;  Mr.  Leigh  had  had  his  boots 
blacked  by  the  person  who  blacked  the  boots  of  an 
earl's  grandsons ;  Miss  Grace  had  been  driving  in 
a  carriage  and '  pair,  if  not  in  a  carriage  and  four, 
and  had  been  eating  off  plate,  there  could  be  no 
(291) 


292  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

doubt,  and  had  seen  the  table  served  in  a  manner 
which  would  certainly  throw  into  the  shade  even 
those  tables  of  the  first  families  in  Whitechapel,  on 
which  Mrs.  Treherne's  knowledge  of  the  world  was 
founded.  All  which  glories  could  not  but  leave 
their  traces  on  Miss  Grace  herself,  very  much  like 
her  former  self  as  she  appeared. 

Miss  Betsy  Lovel,  on  the  other  hand,  also  ap- 
peared to  have  been  removed  to  a  little  distance 
from  Grace  by  those  weeks  at  Combe  Monachorum. 
At  least  so  it  seemed  at  the  first  interview ;  but 
quite  in  a  different  way  from  Mrs.  Treherne.  What 
were  earl's  daughters,  or  butlers,  or  carriages  and 
pair,  or  plate,  or  any  such  vulgar  distinctions,  to 
one  of  the  Lovels  of  Downwardshire,  whose  mother 
had  been  in  the  habit,  in  her  childhood,  of  playing 
every  day  with  the  granddaughters  of  an  Irish 
viscount  ? 

Miss  Betsy,  therefore,  if  a  little  distant  to  Grace 
at  their  first  meeting,  was  distant  by  virtue  of  her 
comparative  elevation.  She  kept  a  little  on  the 
high  and  dry  elevation  of  first  principles,  and  took 
occasion  to  assert,  grandly,  for  Grace's  good  : 

"A  gentlewoman  is  a  gentlewoman  whether  she 
is  a  governess  or  a  duchess." 

And  when  Miss  Lavinia  mildly  opined  that  a  cer- 
tain degree  of  respect  might  be  conceded  to  a  duch- 
ess without  compromise  of  dignity  : 

"  My  dear  Lavinia,"  said  Miss  Betsy,  decisively, 
"  you  are  an  excellent  woman,  but  you  know  noth- 
ing of  the  world,  and  I  should  be  sorry  for  Grace 
to  take  up  foolish  notions.  People  cannot  be  more 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  293 

than  well-born  and  well-bred,  and  if  they  are  less, 
we  have  nothing  to  do  with  them." 

"  Except,  perhaps,  as  human  beings  and  fellow- 
creatures,"  remonstrated  Miss  Lavinia  feebly. 

"Who  was  talking  about  fellow-creatures?"  re- 
torted Miss  Betsy,  a  little  sharply ;  "  we  were  speak- 
ing of  social  distinctions.     If  you  come  to  fellow- 
creatiyes,  of  course  a  shoeblack  is   my  fellow-crea-  i 
ture,  or  a  grasshopper." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sister,"  replied  Miss  Lavinia, 
"  I  thought  you  were  speaking  of  worldly  distinc- 
tions. I  thought  you  wished  Grace  to  see  how 
empty  they  are." 

"  Really,  Lavinia,"  said  Miss  Betsy,  driven  to  ex- 
tremities, "  you  are  sometimes  a  little  pertinacious 
and  provoking.  I  was  not  speaking  of  worldly  dis- 
tinctions, but  of  social  distinctions,  which,  of  course, 
must  be  recognized  (although  they  may  belong  to 
our  fallen  nature),  if  the  world  is  to  hold  together 
at  all.  There  is  a  self-respect  quite  distinct  from 
petty  pride,  which  I  should  be  sorry  for  Grace  or 
any  of  us  to  lose.  If  Lady  Katharine  were  to  look 
down  on  us,  it  would  show  she  was  no  gentlewoman. 
If  the  national  schoolmistress,  or  the  wife  of  that 
butcher  who  has  retired  to  Hackney  and  keeps  a 
phaeton,  were  to  consider  themselves  on  a  level 
with  us,  and  not  to  look  up  to  us,  they  would  show 
they  were  vulgar,  ignorant  people.  Nothing  can 
be  clearer." 

Nothing  could  be  clearer  ,to  Miss  Betsy,  as  to  so 
many  on  various  social  levels,  that  between  them 
and  all  beneath  them  there  is  a  great  gulf  which 
25* 


294  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

cannot  be  crossed,  whilst  between  them  and  those 
above  them  there  exist  only  those  petty  distinctions 
which  no  right-minded  person  thinks  anything  of. 

Meantime,  during  this  discussion,  Grace  was  sit- 
ting apart,  "  seen  and  not  heard,"  pondering  many 
things  in  her  mind. 

"  Gracie,  what  are  you  thinking  of?"  said  Miss 
Lavinia  at  length. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  something  Mr.  Bertram  said," 
replied  Grace,  hesitating  a  little. 

"About  what  ?"  said  Miss  Lavinia. 

"About  people  despising  each  other." 

"  I  am  sure,  my  dear,  I  despise  no  one,"  said  Miss 
Betsy,  quickly ;  "  not  even  the  butcher's  wife  or  the 
schoolmistress.  They  are  very  worthy  people,  no 
doubt,  in  their  way ;  only,  of  course,  they  ought  to 
understand  their  position." 

"What  did  Mr.  Bertram  say,  Grace?"  asked 
Miss  Lavinia. 

"  He  said  contempt  was  the  meanest  and  smallest 
thing  in  the  world,  because  it  keeps  any  heart  in 
which  it  reigns  from  ever  growing  or  learning ;  be- 
cause it  never  looks  up  to  see  anything  above  it, 
and  only  sees  what  is  lowest  in  things  below  it. 
He  said  people  imagine  themselves  standing  erect, 
when  they  despise  others,  and  looking  down,  with 
heads  drawn  back,  with  a  lofty  scorn.  But  he 
thought,  to  heavenly  eyes,  the  attitude  of  the  con- 
temptuous heart  is  always  a  mean  stooping,  which 
lowers  them  below  the  lowest  of  the  people  they 
despise.  Because,  he  said,  there  is  something  in 
every  one  to  honor,  if  we  could  find  it  out ;  but  con- 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


295 


tempt  passes  by  all  that  could  be  honored,  to  look 
at  that  which  is  lowest.  He  said,  too,  that  con- 
tempt and  envy  are  very  often  only  the  inside  and 
outside  of  the  same  sin.  People  profess  to  despise 
what  they  inwardly  envy." 

"  Did  Mr.  Bertram  say  that  in  a  sermon  ?"  asked 
Miss  Betsy,  growing  a  little  impatient ;  "  if  he  did, 
you  have  remembered  it  very  nicely,  my  dear." 

"  No,"  said  Grace, "  he  was  talking  to  Lady  Kath- 
arine and  Mrs.  O'Brien  about  visiting  the  poor ;  but 
what  I  remember  best  is  what  he  said  about  the 
ladders." 

"  Tell  us  about  that,  Gracie,  if  you  remember," 
said  Miss  Lavinia. 

"  He  said  there  were  two  ladders,  or  stairs.  One 
is  up  the  great  mountain  of  the  world ;  and  as  the 
people  who  are  climbing  up  this  ladder  have  two 
constant  aims — one  to  keep  those  below  from  get- 
ting up  to  them,  and  the  other  to  reach  the  next 
step  themselves,  while  those  who  are  not  climbing 
but  are  obliged  to  stand  still  on  a  particular  step, 
are  always  trying  to  prove  that  between  them  and 
the  next  step  below  there  is  an  impassable  barrier, 
while  between  them  and  the  highest  summit  above 
there  are  nothing  but  little  insignificant  steps.  And, 
after  all,  those  who  have  reached  the  very  top,  know 
that  the  summit  is  nothing  but  a  last  step — nothing 
but  an  empty  platform,  and  no  better  for  building  on 
than  those  below — only  more  exposed  to  the  storms 
which  destroy  buildings.  Then  Mr.  Bertram  said 
there  is  another  ladder,  like  the  old  dream-ladder 
Jacob  saw,  reaching  from  heaven  to  earth.  And  in 


296  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

all  that  great  stair,  he  said,  there  is  no  break  or 
chasm  except  at  the  top.  From  the  archangel  to 
the  sea  anemone,  all  is  one  stair  of  gentle  steps 
without  a  break." 

"Something  very  like  a  break  between  us  and 
the  monkeys,"  suggested  Miss  Betsy,  vaguely  com- 
bating some  vague  suspicion  of  a  new  theory  con- 
cerning the  origin  of  species. 

"  Mr.  Bertram  said  it  was  not  a  slope,  but  a  stair, 
and,  of  course,  some  steps  may  be  higher  than 
others,"  replied  Grace ;  "  but  the  only  chasm  is  at 
the  top,  and  that  is  immeasurable,  for  it  is  between 
God  and  the  highest  of  his  creatures.  But  that 
chasm  has  been  altogether  filled  up,"  said  Grace, 
very  reverently,  "  since  the  Son  of  God,  the  Lord 
Jesus,  became  a  little  babe,  and  grew  up  to  man, 
and  died,  and  rose  again  for  us ;  so  that  now  there 
is  no  chasm  at  all.  But  on  this  stair  people  are  not 
thinking  of  climbing,  but  of  ivor shipping ,  or  of  help- 
ing up  those  below.  For  they  are  altar-stairs.  And 
the  law  which  rules  the  company  there  is,  'Be  ye  sub- 
ject one  to  another?  So  that  the  people  rejoice  to 
recognize  every  distinction,  even  poor  earthly  dis- 
tinctions. The  young  are  subject  to  the  old,  and 
the  poor  recognize  the  gifts  of  the  rich,  and  those 
who  are  not  clever  delight  in  the  gifts  of  those  who 
are.  They  are  helping  those  below,  and  honoring 
those  above.  And  so  Mr.  Bertram  said,"  concluded 
Grace,  "the  whole  happy  company  are  always 
rising  higher  and  higher  towards  heaven,  and  nearer 
and  nearer  God." 

"  Surely,"  said  Miss  Betsy,  fidgeting  a  little,  and 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


297 


just  perceiving  the  meaning  clearly  enough  to  try 
to  miss  it,  "  surely  Mr.  Bertram  did  not  mean  to  say 
that  money  and  rank,  and  such  poor,  worldly  things, 
were  of  any  value  in  God's  sight.  There  is  no  re- 
spect of  persons  with  him ;  and  I  am  sure  Mr.  Ber- 
tram is  too  good  a  man  not  to  see  that." 

"  Oh,  sister,"  said  Miss  Lavinia,  taking  courage, 
"  what  Gracie  says  is  just  what  I  feel.  I  do  think 
it  makes  us  so  much  happier  to  recognize  every  lit- 
tle distinction  of  money,  or  rank,  or  ability,  or  any- 
thing, just  as  so  many  steps  of  God's  ordering.  I 
feel  so  much  freer  with  people  when  I  simply  say  to 
myself,  '  Now  you  are  wiser,  or  richer,  or  higher  up 
in  the  world  than  I  am ;  but  I  am  as  much  in  my 
place — that  is,  God's  place  for  me  here — as  you  are 
there ;'  than  if  I  were  trying  to  think  their  gifts  are 
nothing,  and  to  stretch  up  and  feel  as  tall  as  they 
are." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Miss  Betsy,  "/  was  taught  to 
believe,  at  all  events,  that  these  little  differences 
ended  in  the  grave.  I  must  say  I  am  surprised  that 
Mr.  Bertram  should  carry  them  into  heaven ;  and  I 
cannot  say  I  think  it  quite  reverent  to  talk  of  an 
archangel  and  a  periwinkle,  or  some  creature  of  that 
kind,  in  the  same  breath.  But  I  know  I  and  the 
Church  Catechism  are  old-fashioned  and  out  of  date 
now,  according  to  some  people's  notions." 

When  Miss  Betsy,  figuratively  speaking,  took  the 
bit  between  her  teeth  in  that  way,  and  ran  away  on 
the  wrong  road,  Miss  Lavinia  well  knew  that  the 
only  way  to  bring  her  back  was  to  make  no  effort 
to  stop  her.  Accordingly,  she  checked  Grace,  who 


298  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

was  preparing  for  an  eloquent  vindication  of  Mr. 
Bertram,  by  opening  a  little  book  of  dried  seaweeds 
which  Grace  had  brought  her  as  a  present ;  and  by 
the  time  they  had  looked  admiringly  through  every 
page,  Miss  Betsy  had  brought  herself  up ;  and,  be- 
fore Grace  left,  she  said : 

"  Mr.  Bertram  is  an  excellent  young  man,  Grace, 
my  dear,  and  of  course  a  little  girl  like  you  could 
not  be  expected  to  remember  everything  exactly, 
although,  I  must  say,  you  told  it  all  very  prettily. 
Of  course  we  all  do  recognise  differences  of  station. 
I  was  only  anxious  you  should  not  attach  too  much 
importance  to  petty  distinctions  of  rank  and  wealth. 
And,  of  course,  Mr.  Bertram  acknowledges  that 
these  differences  have  only  to  do  with  time  and 
temporal  things." 

"  Even  the  distinction  between  the  butcher's  wife 
and  ourselves,"  suggested  Miss  Lavinia. 

"Undoubtedly,  if  the  butcher's  wife  does  her 
duty  in  that  station  of  life  to  which  it  has  pleased 
God  to  call  her.  Only,  of  course,  we  cannot  under- 
stand it  now.  We  shall  all  of  us  have  to  undergo 
such  a  great  change  when  we  leave  this  world.  You 
are  a  good  little  girl,  Grace,  and  have  done  those 
seaweeds  beautifully,  and  are  above  being  spoiled 
by  the  notice  of  those  whom  vulgar  people  think 
great.  I  am  sure  Lavinia  has  her  own  ideas ;  but 
to  me,  I  confess,  these  differences  are  of  no  import- 
ance whatever." 

And  yet  Grace  instinctively  felt  that  Miss  Betsy's 
lofty  scorn  of  these  "  petty  distinctions "  implied 
far  more  value  for  them  than  Miss  Lavinia's  con- 


THE  WORLD  'SHE  LIVED  IN.  299 

tented  recognition  of  them,  or  even  than  Mrs.  An- 
derson's reverence  for  ancient  pedigree,  when  she 
said,  "  I  do  feel  glad,  Miss  Grace,  you  have  seen 
something  of  the  real  old  families.  It's  such  as 
they  I'd  like  to  see  you  amongst  always.  Not  but 
that  there  are  names  in  the  country  made  little  of 
now,  that  can  be  traced  further  back  than  any  Low- 
land lord's.  But  that's  nothing  to  the  purpose. 
The  Lord  putteth  down  one  and  setteth  up  another. 
And  there  are  names,"  she  concluded,  solemnly, 
"  written  in  another  Book  which  is  older  than  either, 
and  will  last  longer." 

To  little  Fan,  in  her  low  place  in  the  world,  all 
the  minor  gradations  of  society  were  as  much  lost 
in  the  distance  above,  as  to  a  despotic  monarch  in 
the  distance  below.  Both  counted  the  rest  of  the 
world  in  "  masses."  To  her,  the  lady  who  kept  the 
greengrocer's  shop,  and  the  Miss  Lovels,  and  Mrs. 
O'Brien,  and  Lady  Katharine,  were  all  blended  into 
one  indiscriminate  mass  of  superior  people  who 
had  to  be  courtesied  to. 

Grace  noticed  that  little  Fan  had  rather  a  fright- 
ened and  subdued  look,  as  she  waited  on  the  tea- 
table  the  first  evening  of  their  return ;  but  she  said 
little  to  her  until  the  first  afternoon  when  Fan  could 
be  spared  for  the  hour's  sewing-lesson,  which  was 
her  great  holiday  twice  a  week.  Then,  to  Grace's 
surprise,  almost  at  the  first  kind  word  she  spoke  to 
her,  asking  about  Dan,  Fan  burst  into  tears. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  little  Fan  ?" 

"  Nothing  isn't  the  matter,  Miss  Grace.     Only 


300  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

I'm  so  glad  you're  back  again.  I've  done  so  many 
things  wrong  since  you  were  away." 

"  What  kind  of  wrong  things  ?  can  you  tell  me, 
Fan  ?  Perhaps  I  might  help  you.  We  all  do 
wrong  things  sometimes ;  and  then  the  right  way 
is  to  start  again." 

"  Not  wrong  things  like  me,"  sobbed  Fan.  I've 
got  such  fingers,  like  butter,  missis  says.  "I've 
broken  three  mugs  and  four  glasses,  and  a  bottle, 
and  the  great  pie-dish  with  the  pie  in  it.  Missis 
says  it's  more  than  my  work's  worth  in  a  year, 
and  she  don't  think  I  shall  never  be  no  better," 
sobbed  Fan,  "  never.  She  had  a  girl,  she  says, 
once  before  like  that,  and  she  turned  out  dreadful, 
and  was  sent  over  the  seas.  She  says  I  shall  be 
like  her,  if  I  don't  mind ;  and  oh !  Miss  Grace,  I 
do  mind.  I  do  try,  and  I  don't  get  no  better.  The 
more  I  try,  the  more  the  things  seem  to  slip  through 
my  fingers.  I  seem  to  hear  missis'  voice  saying, 
4  There  you  go  again,'  and  somehow  my  fingers 
won't  hold,  and  down  the  things  go.  And  then  I 
lie  awake,  thinking  of  the  girl  who  was  sent  across 
the  seas.  And  I  pray  to  God,  Miss  Grace,  I  do.  I 
ask  him  not  to  let  me  break  anything  more.  I 
asked  him  last  night  so  hard ;  •  and  this  morning, 
the  first  thing,  I  heard  missis  calling  quick,  and  I 
broke  the  milk-jug  ;  and  she  come  and  says  there's 
no  hope  I  shall  ever  mend.  And  I  don't  suppose 
there  is.  And  oh  my  !  I  shall  spoil  my  apron  with 
crying,  and  I  had  two  clean  last  week.  There 
never  was  such  a  careless  child,  missis  said,  I  spill 
things  so ;"  and  she  made  a  great  gulp  to  stop  the 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  301 

tears  which  were  running  fast  on  her  checked 
apron. 

Grace  wiped  the  tears  away,  and  pondered  in  her 
mind  how  "best  to  comfort  Fan  without  making  too 
light  of  her  offences,  when  Fan  looked  and  said  in 
an  awed  voice : 

"Please,  Miss  Grace,  they  have  to  do  a  good 
many  things  besides  breaking  and  spilling  things, 
haven't  they,  before  they're  sent  to  prison  and 
across  the  seas  ?  It  would  bo  such  a  disgrace  to 
Dan,  he'd  never  get  over  it,  Dan  wouldn't." 

Reassured  on  this  point,  Fan  was  prepared  to 
receive  the  consolation  Grace  was  able  to  give. 

"Fan,"  she  said,  "I  think  I  may  tell  you  that 
Mrs.  Treherne  spoke  very  kindly  of  you.  She  said 
you  had  everything  to  learn,  and,  of  course,  you 
have.  And  she  said  you  had  broken  several  things, 
but  not  as  many  as  some.  And  she  said  you  were 
so  gentle  and  kind  to  the  little  ones,  and  swept  out 
the  rooms  so  nicely  into  the  corners,  she  should  cer- 
tainly try  to  keep  you,  and  she  believed  you  might 
one  day  make  quite  a  nice  little  housemaid." 

The  tears  stood  still  in  Fan's  eyes  with  amaze- 
ment, and  then  they  gathered  again  into  one  more 
little  sob  of  delight,  the  last. 

"  Me  a  housemaid,  Miss  Grace  !  Missis  said  that 
of  me  ?" 

For  Mrs.  Treherne's  principles  of  education  were 
all  in  the  way  of  prohibitions  and  threats.  She 
would  have  thought  it  a  most  imprudent  conces- 
sion to  tell  little  Fan  one  half  of  the  good  things 
phe  had  said  about  her  to  Grace.  She  believed,  as 


302  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

many  people  do,  that  fear  was  a  stimulus,  and  hope 
a  soporific,  and  that  the  most  impressive  way  of 
urging  any  one  to  overcome  a  fault  is  to  tell  them 
they  never  will.  Little  Fan,  however,  being  accus- 
tomed to  believe  evil  things  of  herself,  and  having 
seen  a  good  deal  of  the  dark  ends  of  evil  ways, 
had  taken  Mrs.  Treherne  literally,  and  but  for 
Grace's  timely  encouragement,  might  have  sunk 
for  life,  under  this  wholesome  discipline,  into  a 
hopeless  resignation  never  to  overcome  anything 
wrong,  or  do  anything  well.  Grace,  on  the  other 
hand,  having  no  theories  of  education,  but  having 
proved,  in  her  own  experience  and  in  Harry's,  that 
the  most  difficult  thing  in  morals  is  to  repair  the 
languor  of  frequent  failures,  and  to  give  the  impe- 
tus to  start  again  after  failure,  bent  her  whole 
powers  to  persuading  little  Fan  that  she  would  be 
sure  to  succeed  in  the  end  if  she  tried  ;  and  at  the 
end  of  the  hour,  when  she  asked  Fan : 

"  You  won't  think  it  no  good  to  ask  God  to  help 
you  again  to-night,  will  you,  Fan  ?" 

Fan  smiled  and  nodded  a  promise,  and  whispered, 
"  Then  you  really  think,  Miss  Grace,  I  may  grow 
up  not  to  be  a  disgrace  to  Dan  ?  For  Dan's  to  be 
a  shoemaker ;  the  baker's  loads  were  too  many  for 
him,  and  Mrs.  Anderson's  been  and  got  him  bound. 
Oh,  Dan's  such  a  good  lad,  Mrs.  Anderson  says." 

And  Fan's  eyes  sparkled  with  hope  and  love,  as 
she  went  to  get  the  tea-things,  with  a  steadier  hand 
than  she  had  known  since  Grace  had  left  home. 

"  Oh  father,"  said  Grace  that  evening,  "  how  glad 
I  am  we  are  at  home." 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  303 

"  So  are  the  old  people  in  the  workhouse,"  said 
Mr.  Leigh.  "  One  of  them  said  that  while  I  was 
away  no  one  had  done  anything  for  them  but  read 
the  service  and  a  sermon  once  a  week,  and  stand  at 
the  door  of  the  wards,  and  smile,  and  hope  in  a 
general  way  they  were  all  comfortable  ;  and  I  can, 
at  all  events,  go  and  listen  and  talk  to  them  one  by 
one.  It  does  seem,  Gracie,  sometimes  as  if  we 
were  in  the  right  nook  in  the  world,  instead  of  in 
the  wrong ;  although,  of  course,  Cousin  Etlix  can't 
be  expected  to  think  so ;  and  I  do  wish  for  your 
and  Harry's  sakes  I  had  been  a  more  successful 
man.  However,  if  Harry  gets  that  scholarship, 
perhaps  things  may  not  turn  out  so  very  badly 
after  all" 

For  the  annual  visit  to  Bedford  Square  generally 
threw  its  shadow  over  Mr.  Leigh  at  least  a  month 
before,  and  it  was  already  November. 

That  year  the  visit  was  certainly  not  more  cheer- 
ful than  usual.  Mr.  Hunter  threw  out  sundry  plain 
suggestions  as  to  the  advantages  to  be  obtained 
from  aristocratic  friends,  if  they  really  were  friends 
worth  the  name,  and  had  not  merely  taken  you  up 
by  way  of  passing  a  dull  season,  or  investigating  a 
new  phase  of  society,  as  they  might  an  African 
explorer,  or  a  book  about  the  manners  and  customs 
of  London  thieves,  or  any  other  instrument  by 
which  they  might  obtain  glimpses  into  spheres  be- 
yond or  below  their  own  reach.  It  was  true  (Mr. 
Hunter  said  in  a  confidential  communication  with 
Mr.  Leigh  after  dinner),  that  the  Reform  Bill  had 
seriously  lessened  the  influence  of  families  like  the 


3°4 


WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 


Wyses,  by  sweeping  away  their  rotten  boroughs ; 
but  there  were  livings  still  in  their  gift,  he  knew, 
and  Lady  Katharine's  connections  had  the  disposal 
of  two  or  three  of  the  largest  livings  in  England. 
Mr.  Leigh,  he  knew,  had  scruples  of  conscience 
against  asking  for  anything ;  but  his  ideas  of  con- 
science were  that  a  man's  first  duty  is  to  provide 
for  his  own.  Of  course  it  was  not  pleasant  to  ask 
for  things ;  it  was  very  unpleasant  to  be  refused, 
and  not  -always  very  pleasant  to  receive  ;  but  duties 
are  not  always  pleasant,  and  men  with  families  and 
without  property  had  to  do  many  things  that  were 
not  pleasant,  or  else  their  sons  and  daughters  would 
have  to  do  things  that  were  more  unpleasant  still ; 
and  he  must  confess  the  men  he  respected  were 
those  who  had  the  self-denial  to  sacrifice  petty 
scruples  of  conscience,  or  of  pride,  or  whatever  you 
like  to  call  it,  and  expose  themselves  to  the  risk  of 
rebuffs  rather  than  lose  the  chance  of  obtaining 
benefits  for  the  family.  Altogether,  Mr.  Hunter 
succeeded  in  so  working  on  Mr.  Leigh's  conscience 
that  on  rising  from  the  table  he  felt  that  another 
visit  to  Combe  Monachorum  would  be  almost  as 
depressing  as  a  visit  to  Bedford  Square,  since  he 
would  be  divided  all  the  time  between  his  own  ab- 
horrence of  encroaching  on  any  one,  and  Mr.  Hun- 
ter's code  of  the  duty  of  his  turning  everything  to 
the  profit  of  Grace  and  Harry. 

Meantime  Mrs.  Hunter  had  been  practising  a 
great  amount  of  dignity  on  Grace  without  produc- 
ing any  corresponding  effect.  She  had  (quite  pa- 
renthetically, as  if  the  Combe  Monachorum  episode 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  305 

were  something  that  had  scarcely  occupied  her 
thoughts)  informed  Grace  that  the  Wyses  were  a 
family  very  little  thought  of  in  those  lofty  unknown 
circles  into  which  she  soared  altogether  beyond 
Grace's  ken;  that  Lady  Katharine's  father  was 
only  the  fourth  earl,  and  that  the  less  said  about 
the  circumstances  to  which  her  ancestors  owed 
their  elevation  to  the  peerage  the  better.  All 
which  information  had  no  more  personal  effect  on 
Grace  than  a  dissertation  on  the  origin  of  the 
Hohenstaufen,  or  on  the  comparative  merits  of  the 
Guelphs  and  the  Ghibellines,  Lady  Katharine's  dig- 
nity in  Grace's  eyes  consisting  in  her  being  a  very 
open-hearted  and  majestic  old  lady,  who  looked 
like  a  queen,  and  behaved  to  her  like  a  very  indul- 
gent grandmother,  and  who,  if  her  father  had  been 
the  fourth  earl  or  the  four-and-twentieth,  deserved 
herself  to  be  the  "  first  countess  "  in  the  land.  She 
felt  sorry  certainly  that  Lady  Katharine's  great- 
great-great-grandfather  had  obtained  his  peerage  in 
a  way  that  was  not  to  his  credit ;  but  the  only  con- 
clusion she  could  draw  from  this  fact  (if  it  were  a 
fact),  was  that  Lady  Katharine  must  be  unlike  her 
great-great-great-grandfather,  or  that  the  family 
must  have  improved  generally  since  the  days  of  the 
ancestor  who  had  better  not  be  talked  about ;  which 
Grace  thought  was  a  pleasant  thing  to  think,  be- 
cause if  they  had  begun  they  might  go  on  improv- 
ing ;  in  which  case  no  one  could  say  to  what 
degree  of  excellence  the  four-and-twentieth  earl 
might  attain. 

But  Grace  did  not  say  this  to  Mrs.  Hunter.     She 
26* 


306  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

only  listened  until  Mr.  Hunter  and  her  father  ap- 
peared, and  the  Hunter  parents  branched  off  into  a 
responsive  discourse  illustrative  of  the  merits  of 
the  various  Hunter  children  who  had  not  yet  re- 
turned from  school,  Mr.  Hunter  enlarging  on  the 
exalted  opinions  of  the  abilities,  and  the  lofty  hopes 
of  the  destinies  of  those  remarkable  young  people 
entertained  by  their  various  tutors  and  masters ; 
and  Mrs.  Hunter  treating  all  these  attainments  and 
promises  in  a  grand  style,  as  no  more  than  must  in 
reason  be  expected  of  her  children,  and  as  the  mere 
alphabet  of  the  glories  reserved  for  them  in  the 
future. 

Then  Mr.  Hunter  took  the  lamp,  to  show  his  poor 
relations  some  pictures  which  he  had  recently  pur- 
chased at  an  enormous  price,  or  as  an  enormous  bar- 
gain, although,  of  course,  he  said  (rather  ironically), 
"  you  would  not  think  much  of  them  after  the  gal- 
lery at  Combe  Monachorum,  which,  I  believe,  cost 
the  late  Mr.  Wyse  and  his  father  fabulous  sums." 
•  Mr.  Leigh  felt  tempted  to  apologise  for  having 
seen  finer  pictures  at  Combe  Monachorum,  but  Mrs. 
Hunter  said  loftily,  "  My  dear,  you  talk  as  if  the 
Wyses  were  something  out  of  the  common.  I  be- 
lieve their  pictures  are  no  more  than  may  be  found 
in  thousands  of  private  houses." 

"Mamma,"  said  a  little  voice  from  an  invalid 
chair  by  the  fire,  "  I  think  Combe  must  be  a  beau- 
tiful old  place.  There  are  cedars  as  tall  as  the 
chimneys,  and  a  hall  as  large  as  a  square,  and  such 
beautiful  horses,  and  miles  of  woods.  Cousin 
Harry  has  been  telling  me  all  about  it." 


THE    WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  307 

"  I  daresay  it  was  a  great  contrast  to  Harry,  my 
dear,"  said  Mrs.  Hunter  with  a  magnificent  smile. 
"  I  hope  you  did  not  feel  the  return  to  your  lodg- 
ings too  much,  Grace,"  she  added. 

Grace  colored  a  little ;  but  there  was  no  cloud 
of  pride  on  the  smile  in  her  eyes  as  she  looked  up 
in  Mrs.  Hunter's  face,  and  said  : 

"  We  were  very  happy  at  Combe,  Mrs.  Hunter ; 
every  one  was  so  kind.  But  we  could  not  help 
being  glad  to  be  at  home  again,  they  were  so  glad 
to  have  us  back.  And  then,  you  know,  it  is  home, 
and  the  people  were  so  glad  to  see  father  again." 

"  Yes,"  chimed  in  the  feeble  voice  from  the  fire- 
side, "  the  people  in  the  workhouse,  mamma,  they 
love  Mr.  Leigh  so  much.  They  were  so  pleased  to 
see  him  again,  Cousin  Grace  says." 

"  In  the  workhouse,  Maud  !"  said  Mr.  Hunter, 
"you  do  not  know  what  you  are  talking  about. 
The  people  in  the  workhouse  are  paupers.  No  one 
ought  to  be  pleased  about  anything  in  a  workhouse, 
for  no  one  ought  to  be  there.  If  people  were  only 
provident  and  used  their  opportunities  as  they 
ought,  no  one  would  be  there.  Every  one  ought 
to  be  ashamed  of  being  there  ;  and  I  am  happy  to 
say,  such  is  the  generally  high  tone  of  feeling  in 
the  country,  almost  every  one  is  ashamed  to  be 
there." 

"  But  there  are  the  blind  people,  papa,"  said  the 
feeble  voice,  "  and  the  lame  people,  what'  are  they 
to  do  ?" 

"  There  are  blind  asylums  for  respectable  blind 
people,"  replied  Mr.  Hunter ;  "  but,  my  dear,  these 


308  WIN  [FRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

questions    are  beyond  a  little   girl's    comprehen- 
sion." 

Mrs.  Hunter  summoned  Grace  to  play  a  duet 
with  her,  Mr.  Hunter  took  up  the  Times,  and  Mr. 
Leigh  and  little  Maud  were  left  to  a  private  chat, 
as  he  seated  himself  beside  her. 

For  even  in  Mr.  Hunter's  household  there  was 
one  unsuccessful  person.  Little  Maud,  the  young- 
est child,  had  in  some  unaccountable  way  so  far  for- 
gotten herself  and  her  representative  duties  as  a 
Hunter  as  to  have  had  very  feeble  health  from 
infancy.  A  model  nurse,  moreover,  had  so  far  for- 
gotten herself  as  to  let  her  be  upset  in  a  perambu- 
lator, and  twist  her  ancle  ;  and  the  inaction  caused 
by  the  crippled  limb  had  increased  her  natural  deli- 
cacy, so  as  to  make  her  a  confirmed  invalid. 

Always  at  these  annual  visits  Grace  had  contrived 
to  say  a  few  loving  words  to  Maud,  which  had 
quietly  sunk  into  the  little  sufferer's  heart,  and 
made  that  dreaded  annual  visit  anything  but 
dreaded  by  her.  But  hitherto  little  Maud  had  been 
much  lost  sight  of  among  the  older  children,  and 
besides,  this  was  the  first  year  when  her  invalid 
chair  had  been  removed  from  the  nursery  to  the 
drawing-room,  so  that  Maud  and  Mr.  Leigh  were 
that  evening  making  each  other's  acquaintance. 
The  words  that  passed  between  these  two  were 
very  few  and  simple  ;  but  they  made  that  house  a 
different  place  to  Mr.  Leigh  from  that  hour. 

"  You  have  suffered  much  pain,  Maud,  I'm  afraid," 
said  Mr.  Leigh,  looking  at  the  little  thin  face,  and 
into  the  eyes  that  had  so  little  sparkle  in  them. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  309 

"  Not  so  very  much,  and  not  always,  Mr.  Leigh ; 
only  sometimes  when  the  wind  changes,  or  I  try  to 
move  too  quickly.  But  it  isn't  the  pain  I  mind," 
she  continued. 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Leigh,  as  if  he  understood  it, 
"  it  isn't  generally  pain  that  is  the  worst  thing." 

"And  it  isn't  only  being  unlike  the  rest,"  she 
added,  after  a  little  hesitation,  "  it  is  because  I  am 
so  stupid." 

"  But  perhaps  you  are  mistaken  about  that,"  said 
Mr.  Leigh,  "  we  can  seldom  judge  that  for  our- 
selves. Very  clever  men  sometimes  have  thought 
themselves  stupid  until  they  found  out  the  thing 
they  could  do." 

"  But  I  am  not  at  all  clever,"  was  the  reply,  with 
a  hopeless  little  movement  of  the  head.  "They 
have  tried  me  in  everything,  and  they  have  never 
found  out  the  thing  I  am  particularly  clever  in.  I 
don't  get  on ;  every  one  says  so.  I  don't  do  any- 
thing as  well  as  the  rest.  Papa  says  it  is  very 
strange,  because  it  is  generally  made  up  to  people 
for  wanting  one  thing  by  having  more  of  something 
else.  I  have  heard  him  say  so  once  to  the  German 
master.  But  I  haven't  more  of  anything.  It  seems 
as  if  there  was  some  mistake  about  it ;  and  of 
course  it  must  be  my  mistake ;  but  I  don't  know 
how  to  get  right  and  get  on.  And  that  is  what  I 
care  for  more  than  the  pain." 

The  child  spoke  with  slow  gravity,  as  if  she  were 
unfolding  the  long  perplexities  of  years,  not  so 
much  with  a  hope  of  solution  as  because  it  was  a 
relief  to  unfold  them. 


3 10  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Leigh,  half  to  himself,  "  a  strain 
is  often  the  worst  pain." 

The  child  looked  up. 

"  That  is  what  I  feel,"  she  said, "  a  pain  all  through, 
such  as  I  feel  in  my  bad  ancle  when  I  try  to  move 
it." 

"  God  does  not  mean  any  of  us  to  feel  that, 
Maud,"  said  Mr.  Leigh  gently.  "  No  one  does 
feel  it  when  they  are  doing  His  work ;  but  only 
when  we  are  setting  our  tasks  for  ourselves." 

The  child  looked  intently  in  his  face,  but  said 
nothing. 

"  The  Lord  Jesus  does  not  say,  '  Get  on,' "  he 
said,  "  but  '  Follow  me.'  He  does  not  want  us  to 
do  as  well  as  other  people,  but  as  well  as  we  can  ;  and 
then  He  is  quite  sure  to  be  pleased.  He  wills  all 
His  children  to  bring  Him  their  work  every  even- 
ing. Some  of  them  have  done  things  which  will 
be  talked  about  and  praised  while  the  world  lasts, 
and  some  have  done  what  no  one  thinks  anything 
of,  perhaps  cut  the  grass  in  the  Square  garden,  or 
borne  a  bad  ancle  patiently,  and  done  a  few  lessons 
as  well  as  they  can.  But  God  is  quite  as  pleased 
with  one  as  with  another ;  God  sets  us  here  not  to 
do  wonders,  but  to  learn  lessons.  We  are  to  do 
the  wonders  by-and-by." 

"  Then  you  don't  think  I  ought  to  be  cleverer 
than  other  people,  or  do  something  wonderfully 
well,  to  make  up  for  being  so  small  and  lame  ?" 

"  I  think  God  will  give  you  something  more  to 
make  up  to  you  if 'you  ask  Him." 

"  I  have  asked  Him  so  many  times,"  said  Maud, 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  311 

"  to  make  me  sing  beautifully,  or  draw  beautifully, 
or  something  ;  but  I  can't." 

"  God  has  better  things  than  these  to  give  you, 
Maud,"  said  Mr.  Leigh. 

Her  thoughtful  grave  eyes  brightened  into  an 
inquiry. 

"Love,  joy,  peace,  gentleness,  goodness,  faith, 
meekness,  temperance,  those  are  God's  best  things, 
Maud,"  said  Mr.  Leigh. 

A  new  look  of  rest  came  over  the  thin  little  eager 
face,  making  it  quite  beautiful ;  not  a  smile,  but  a 
calm,  as  of  a  limb  strained  in  every  muscle  sub- 
siding into  soft  curves  of  repose. 

And  Mr.  Leigh  left  Bedford  Square  that  even- 
ing as  quiet  and  peaceful  as  if  he  were  returning 
from  his  evening  service  on  Sunday.  For  he  and 
Maud  had  been  preaching  each  other  a  sermon, 
which  made  it  quite  clear  to  Mr.  Leigh  for  the 
time  that  both  his  lodgings  over  the  greengrocer's, 
and  the  house  in  Bedford  Square  might  be  steps  of 
a  stair,  where  going  straight  forward  is  "  getting 
on"  always. 

When  Mrs.  O'Brien^  nad  asked  Lady  Katharine's 
advice  about  the  best  way  to  do  good  to  her  poor 
people  in  the  east  of  London,  Lady  Katharine  had 
said: 

"I  had  some  advice  given  me  by  my  French 
master,  when  I  was  a  child,  which  has  often  helped 
me  since  in  other  ways.  'If  you  wish  to  learn 
to  read,'  he  said,  '  read ;  if  you  wish  to  learn  to 
speak,  speak ;  if  you  wish  to  learn  to  write,  write9 


3 1 2  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

So,  Cecil,  I  say  to  you,  If  you  wish  to  learn  how  to 
assist  the  poor,  assist  them ;  if  you  wish  to  learn 
how  to  do  good,  do  good.  The  only  way  to  learn  to 
do  anything  is  to  do  it ;  and,  of  course,  that  im- 
plies that  before  you  learn  to  do  it  right  you  will 
do  it  wrong.  You  will  make  blunders,  you  will 
make  failures  ;  you  are  very  fortunate  if  you  do  not 
do  mischief;  but  persevere,  and  in  the  end  you 
will  learn  your  lesson,  and  probably  a  good  many 
other  lessons  by  the  way." 

With  which  counsel  Mrs.  O'Brien  had  to  be  con- 
tent, and  to  launch  herself  on  the.  sea  of  experience. 
Mr.  O'Brien,  who  was  many  years  her  senior,  looked 
on  these  new  experiments  of  his  wife  with  much  the 
same  lofty  and  pitying  interest  which  he  had  shown 
for  her  fernery,  her  aviary,  her  rock  garden,  or  any 
other  of  the  schemes  which  had  occupied  her  from 
time  to  time.     A  little  more  dangerous,  he  thought 
it,  inasmuch  as  the  experiments  were  made  with 
more   unmanageable  materials.     If   Mrs.    O'Brien 
killed  her  birds  or  her  ferns  with  kindness,  less 
mischief  was  done,  he  thought,  than  by  her  pursu- 
ing the  same  process  with  human  beings.     How- 
ever, in  this  matter  Mrs.  O'Brien  had  evidently 
advanced  in  her  own  opinion  from  the  domain  of 
taste  to  that  of  conscience ;   and  with  conscience 
Mr.  O'Brien  was  far  too  liberal-minded  to  interfere. 
He  rather  inclined,  indeed,  to  the  belief  that  "  char- 
ity "  is  one  of  the  eccentric  influences  which  pre- 
vent "  social  science  "  from  working  itself  out  effect- 
ually ;  but  he  candidly  admitted  that,  constituted 
as  things  are,  it  is  perhaps  hopeless  in  our  genera- 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


313 


tion  to  see  the  social  system  work  quite  as  steadily 
as  the  planetary ;  that  there  actually  are  other 
eccentric  influences  of  a  more  irregular  and  per- 
nicious kind  than  "  charity,"  and  that  as  long  as 
there  are  some  human  beings  "  eccentric  "  enough 
to  do  nothing,  steal,  murder,  or  kill  themselves  with 
drinking,  it  might  be  as  well  there  should  be  other 
human  beings  eccentric  enough  to  spend  their  lives  ( 
in  counteracting  the  disorder  thus  introduced, 
although  by  disorderly  means. 

He  therefore  only  entered  enough  of  a  protest 
to  give  him  a  right,  when  Mrs.  O'Brien's  plans 
failed,  to  say  with  an  air  of  serene  superiority, 
"  My  love,  I  am  not  surprised." 

And  it  must  be  confessed  Mrs.  O'Brien's  plans 
did  fail  very  frequently.  Starting  with  Mrs.  Dee 
as  a  danger-signal  to  show  her  where  not  to  go, 
and  with  the  old  maxim  of  believing  every  one  an 
honest  man  until  you  prove  him  to  be  a  rogue,  her 
errors  were  not  on  the  side  of  incredulity  or  want 
of  tenderness.  From  Mrs.  Dee's  extreme  of  ex- 
horting from  a  platform,  she  fell  into  the  other  of 
regarding  poverty  and  trouble  as  a  kind  of  dignity 
and  consecration  in  themselves,  raising  the  suffer- 
ers on  a  platform,  which  she  must  approach  with  a 
delicate  reverence,  even  when  the  suffering  was,  too 
obviously,  the  result  of  mismanagement  and  im- 
providence. "  How  could  I  manage,"  she  thought, 
"  to  maintain  a  family  on  eighteen  shillings  or  a 
pound  a  week  ?  and  what  right  have  I  to  wonder 
if  this  poor  man  cannot  ?  How  could  I  be  house- 
maid, laundress,  nurse,  cook,  needle-woman  to  a 
27 


3H 


WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 


husband  and  half  a  dozen  children,  as  these  poor 
mothers  have  to  be  ?  and  what  right  have  I  to  lec- 
ture them  if  the  children's  faces  are  not  always 
washed,  and  the  floors  not  always  swept  ?  How 
could  I  make  everything  comfortable  for  my  hus- 
band with  only  one  room  to  live  in;  and  what 
right  have  I  to  judge  a  poor  delicate  woman  if  she 
does  not  ?"  She  did  not  at  once  perceive  that  while 
souls  and  bodies  arc  the  same  in  all  classes,  and 
therefore  everywhere  heart  answereth  to  heart,  the 
effect  of  circumstances  on  souls  and  bodies  is  infin- 
itely varied  by  habit  and  association,  and  that  there- 
fore what  would  be  "  straits  "  to  one,  is  absolutely 
wealth  and  a  "  large  room  "  to  another.  Thus  she 
frequently  returned  from  her  visitations  more  ex- 
hausted by  sympathy  than' the  sufferers  she  sym- 
pathized with  were  by  their  troubles. 

Then,  as  to  "  giving,"  after  some  months'  expe- 
rience, she  was  almost  tempted  to  come  to  Miss 
Dalton's  conclusion  that  it  was  impossible  to  give 
without  doing  at  least  as  much  harm  as  good.  It 
would  have  been  a  relief  if  she  could  have  at  least 
have  adopted  the  theory  that  alms  do  good  to  the 
giver,  whatever  the  effect  on  the  receiver,  and  have 
looked  on  the  poor  as  a  savings  bank  in  which  to 
invest  for  heaven.  But  she  could  not  divest  her- 
self of  the  conviction  that  doing  harm,  with  the 
best  motives,  will  not  count  the  same  as  doing  good 
in  any  day  of  account.  Besides,  she  really  cared 
for  the  people,  and  it  distressed  her  beyond  mea- 
sure when  she  found  that  money  given  to  clothe  a 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  315 

family,  mysteriously  fallen  into  hunger  and  naked- 
ness, had  gone  through  the  wretched  mother's  hands 
to  swell  the  source  of  their  misery  at  the  next  gin- 
shop  ;  or  when  she  discovered  that  her  benefactions 
had  been  encouraging  an  idle  man  in  idleness,  and 
making  the  hard-earned  bread  of  the  neighboring 
family  seem  earned  more  hardly  still ;  or  when  she 
found  the  spirit  of  complaining  only  grow  with  the 
donations  it  fed  upoji. 

Many  a  bitter  lesson  she  had  to  learn  about 
others,  starting  from  the  belief  that  the  poor  and 
afflicted  are  generally  better  and  less  selfish  than 
the  rich  and  prosperous ;  passing  through  the  dreary 
fear  that  they  are  more  selfish,  more  mean,  more 
jealous,  more  corrupt ;  till  at  length  she  landed  in 
the  conviction  that  human  nature  is  the  same  bro- 
ken and  imperfect  thing  everywhere,  only  that  per- 
haps the  cracks  seem  wider  where  the  glazing  does 
not  cover  them. 

But  Mrs.  O'Brien  had  bitterer  lessons  still  to 
learn  about  herself.  Brought  into  contact  with 
various  forms  of  suffering  and  sickness,  she  learned 
how  very  little  she  had  learned,  how  little  she 
knew  what  to  suggest,  or  what  to  do,  or  how  to 
help.  She  began  to  see  also  how,  in  her  own  house- 
hold, she  had  all  her  life  been  doing  her  duties  by 
deputy,  and  been  content  to  stand  merely  turning 
the  handle  of  a  machine,  when  she  might  have  been 
the  centre  of  a  home. 

But  she  began  to  perceive  a  want  deeper  still 
than  any  of  these.  As  she  sat  by  the  bed-side  of 
the  sick  or  the  dying,*  and  anxious  questioning  eyes 


316  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

were  fixed  on  her,  she  began  to  feel  there  was  a 
question  asked  she  had  not  yet  herself  asked,  and 
an  answer  needed  which  she  had  not  yet  learned. 

The  necessities  of  really  poor  districts  so  soon 
surpass  the  capacities  of  the  fullest  purse.  Mrs. 
O'Brien  could  dispense  coals  and  meat  in  hard  sea- 
sons, undertake  the  charge  of  families  rendered  des- 
titute by  sickness  or  bereavement ;  she  could,  by  a 
little  constant  relief,  enable  the  aged  to  keep  the 
luxury  of  a  home  instead  of  sinking  into  units  in  a 
workhouse.  But  when  it  came  to  slack  seasons, 
long  frosts,  failure  in  the  particular  trade  of  the 
district,  and  working  men,  accustomed  to  earn  at 
least  one  pound  a  week,  and  barely  to  support  their 
families  on  that,  were  thrown  out  of  work  for  weeks 
together,  the  limit  of  her  means  of  assistance  must 
at  last  be  reached,  and  beyond  money  and  sympa- 
thy she  had  nothing  to  give.  So  soon  she  reached 
the  bounds  of  her  poor  human  power  to  comfort 
and  assist !  So  many  broken  hearts  were  there, 
and  her  balms  scarcely  reached  to  soothe,  and  had 
no  power  to  heal !  So  many  lives  torn  by  great 
earthquakes  of  sorrow ;  and  could  she  fill  the  chasm 
with  her  tears,  or  bridge  it  over  with  gentle  words  ? 

Many  a  time  she  returned  from  her  work  ex- 
hausted, as  if  every  drop  of  life  and  power  had  been 
drained  out  of  her  heart ;  and  yet  feeling  tjiat  all 
she  had  felt  and  spent  had  scarcely  availed  really  to 
lift  up  one  of  the  sorrowful  hearts  whose  sufferings 
so  weighed  on  her.  It  is  a  tremendous  thing  to 
venture  down  into  the  depths  of  human  misery 
with  none  but  human  aid  to  offer,  and  without  a 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  317 

firm  faith  that  the  ideal  of  life  is  not  a  parade  or  a 
party  of  pleasure  (still  less  a  bower  of  rest),  but  a 
battle  and  a  pilgrimage.  It  is  to  go  into  a  besieged 
city,  perishing  with  famine,  with  proclamations  of 
assistance,  and  have  nothing  to  give  but  our  own 
daily  loaf  of  bread.  It  is  to  stand  before  the  nation 
in  the  wilderness,  fainting  from  days  of  drought, 
and  to  offer  them  to  drink  from  the  few  drops  left 
in  the  pitcher  which  we  have  brought  by  the  same 
journey  with  the  rest  from  the  same  wells.  It  is  a 
perilous  thing  to  come  to  the  nation  in  bondage 
with  words  of  sympathy,  and  promises  of  help 
unless  we  ourselves  have  first  been  in  the  wilder- 
ness alone  with  Him  who  is  mighty  to  save,  and 
heard  His  voice  and  received  His  promises,  and 
proved  His  power. 

"  Bear  ye  one  another's  burdens  "  will  soon  bring  us 
to  the  end  of  our  strength  unless  we  have  first 
proved — unless  we  are  daily  proving — "  Cast  THY 
burden  on  the  Lord,  and  he  will  sustain  thee" 

Through  this  exhaustion  and  helplessness  Mrs. 
O'Brien  was  passing,  sinking  deeper  with  every 
effort  to  lift  others  out. 

Yet  Lady  Katharine's  advice  had  been  right. 
She  was  learning  the  lesson  in  doing  the  work ; 
and  many  other  lessons  by  the  way. 

Many  bitter  tears  she  shed  in  secret  over  her  in- 
capacity and  helplessness.  She  mourned  over  the 
precious  years  of  wasted  youth,  and  wasted  early 
womanhood,  never  she  thought  to  be  regained. 
Precious  years  of  training  for  the  sacred  uses  of 
life,  lavished  on  training  to  be  the  ornament  of  a 


318  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

drawing-room.  She  mourned  over  her  own  empty 
home.  The  weakest  and  most  ineffective  mothers 
must,  she  thought,  have  learned  lessons  in  their 
nurseries,  by  watching  the  development  of  their 
children's  characters  at  their  play,  and  at  their  les- 
sons, and  on  sick-beds,  which  no  one  could  teach 
her.  But  that  path  led  too  far  down  into  bitter 
depths  of  murmuring  to  be  pursued.  And  she 
came  back  to  her  own  neglects.  Winnie  had  been 
sent  her.  She  might  have  taken  the  little  one  to 
her  heart,  taught  her,  watched  her,  learned  from 
her.  But  she  had  deputed  the  care  of  her  health 
to  an  experienced  nurse,  and  of  Jier  mind  to 
teachers  and  masters  ;  so  that  the  child,  who  might 
have  been  a  link  for  her  with  the  hearts  of  other 
women,  had  been  to  her  little  more  than  rather  a 
perplexing  pet  and  plaything.  And  what  power, 
human  or  divine,  can  give  back  wasted  years  ? 
She  felt  as  if  the  greatest  blessing  would  be  some 
convulsion  which  would  shatter  the  smooth,  barren 
surface  of  her  life,  and  enable  her  to  make  a  new 
beginning,  even  though  it  were  amidst  ruins. 

But  unknown  to  her,  all  this  while,  a  strong  hand 
had  been  shattering  the  smooth,  barren  surface  of 
her  life.  She  was  among  ruins.  And  what  she 
needed  was  not  the  earthquake  or  the  whirlwind, 
but  the  still  small  voice,  a  little  grain  of  living  seed, 
and  the  soft  breath  and  dew  of  life. 

In  all  these  conflicts  Mrs.  O'Brien  was  alone. 
Many  people  indeed  volunteered  consolation  and 
advice  when  she  dropped  any  little  expression  of 
disappointment.  One  lady  advised  her  to  send 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED 


319 


relief  to  the  poor  by  her  maid ;  these  sad  scenes 
were  evidently  too  much  for  her  nerves.  Another 
said  it  was  no  wonder  people  should  find  work  alto- 
gether out  of  their  province  too  much  for  them ; 
women  were  to  be  almoners,  religious  instruction 
and  consolation  should  be  left  to  the  clergy.  Mrs. 
O'Brien  would  have  been  only  too  happy  to  leave 
religious  consolation  to  any  one  who  could  give  it ; 
but  her  difficulty  was  where  the  consolations  of  re- 
ligion were  to  begin.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she 
was  continually  encountering,  in  the  commonest 
trials  of  life  among  the  poor,  something  too  deep 
for  her  words  of  comfort  to  reach,  and  if  she  were 
to  call  in  the  clergymen  whenever  words  deeper 
than  expressions  of  ordinary  kindness  and  sympa- 
thy were  needed,  she  would  require  a  chaplain  al- 
ways at  hand  to  supplement  her  labors.  Not  on 
dying  beds  only  are  the  consolations  of  religion 
needed,  or  something  stronger  than  a  little  money 
or  a  little  pity ;  but  every  morning,  when  it  is  not 
clear  where  the  daily  bread  is  to  come  from,  or  the 
daily  strength  for  the  daily  work,  every  evening 
when  the  hard  working  husband,  out  of  employ- 
ment, comes  home  from  a  weary,  fruitless  search 
for  work,  or  when  the  reckless,  well-paid  husband 
comes  back  intoxicated  on  the  wages  which  were 
to  have  bought  the  children  bread. 

Miss  Dalton  watched  with  a  cynical  satisfaction 
Mrs.  O'Brien's  disappointments,  and  observed  that 
she  had  gone  through  it  all  long  since,  and  proved 
what  a  set  of  impostors  the  London  poor  are.  The 
more  you  give,  the  more  you  may  give.  Again  and 


320  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

again  she  Lad  found  that  poverty  was  the  result  of 
hopeless  thriftlessness  and  improvidence,  and  that 
charity  was  a  mere  encouragement  to  vice.  She 
had  gone  through  it  all,  and  had  come  out  of  it, 
and  she  trusted  Mrs.  O'Brien  would  soon  attain 
the  same  result.  But  it  was  precisely  the  dread  of 
going  through  the  experience  by  the  same  path  and 
coming  out  of  it  on  the  same  side  as  Miss  Dalton, 
hardened,  narrowed,  chilled  to  the  heart,  that  al- 
most more  than  anything  gave  Mrs.  O'Brien  cour- 
age to  struggle  on. 

For  in  all  that  really  made  this  experience  bitter 
Mrs.  O'Brien  was  quite  alone ;  in  her  disappoint- 
ment in  human  nature,  in  her  far  bitterer  disap- 
pointment with  herself.  And  yet  she  had  a  library 
of  religious  biographies  of  all  schools ;  and  a  far 
more  instructive  Library  of  human  biographies  col- 
lected in  one  Book.  Footprints  were  before  her 
all  the  way,  footsteps  were  beside  her  all  the  time. 
And  yet,  like  all  the  rest,  she  went  her  solitary  way 
to  the  Door  of  Life,  thinking  herself  on  an  untrod- 
den path,  feeling  herself  in  an  unbounded  wilderness. 

Happy  for  those  whose  first  experience  of  spir- 
itual loneliness,  of  destitution  of  human  .compan- 
ionship, of  the  unutterable  isolation  of  the  spirit  from 
all  human  spirits,  is  made  on  the  way  to  the  Gate 
of  Life,  not  in  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death. 

Meantime,  the  year,  with  many  rebuffs  and  re- 
coils, was  struggling  from  winter  into  spring. 
Trees,  and  flowers,  and  green  herbs,  and  birds  were 
battling  for  their  lives  with  stormy  winds,  and 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


321 


chilling  snows,  and  nipping  frosts;  while  under- 
neath the  great  mother  earth  was  gently  resting, 
having  a  perfect  understanding  with  storms,  and 
snows  and  frosts,  that  they  were  only  to  assist  her 
in  the  education  of  her  children,  peacefully  feel- 
ing how  the  frosts  were  destoying  their  destroyers, 
while  the  winds  made  them  cling  tighter  to  her 
breast,  and  the  snows  penetrated  slowly  down,  re- 
newing all  the  springs  of  her  life  and  theirs. 

For  the  earth  had  known  at  least  six  thousand 
springs,  and  many  of  her  children  but  this  one, 
which  made  all  the  difference. 

A  very  happy  spring  it  was  for  Grace.  Harry 
had  been  moved  into  a  higher  class  at  school.  The 
autumn  holidays  had  wonderfully  restored  Mr. 
Leigh.  She  had  been  taking  lessons  with  Winnie 
from  time  to  time  of  Rosalie  and  of  a  German  master, 
and  also  in  water  colors  of  a  celebrated  painter  of 
flowers.  Every  day  she  felt  gaining  a  step  in 
something,  consciously  growing.  For  Grace  was 
one  of  those  artist-natures  who  are  able  to  rejo'ce 
in  their  work.  Never  thinking  she  had  "  alread/ 
attained,"  yet  nevertheless  each  step  towards  at- 
tainment was  to  her  a  new  joy.  Seeing  the  dis- 
tance before  her  to  be  absolutely  infinite,  she  was 
yet  able  to  think  of  each  advance  on  the  way  to  it 
not  as  a  missing  of  her  ideal,  but  an  approach  to 
it.  And  her  ideal  being  not  other  people's  ideals, 
or  other  people's  attainments,  but  simply  God's 
reality,  she  scarcely  knew  which  was  the  greatest 
source  of  happiness,  to  feel  the  beauty  of  his  crea- 
tion always  so  infinitely  above  her,  to  feel  herself 


322  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

drawing  nearer  to  it.  "  Comparing  ourselves 
among  ourselves,"  must  always  be  narrowing,  either 
with  the  contraction  of  depression,  or  the  meaner 
contraction  of  contempt.  Comparing  ourselves  with 
Divine  standards  is  always  expanding.  It  exalts 
while  it  humbles.  Indeed,  but  for  the  tender  little 
pang  of  fear  that  she  was  leaving  her  old  friends, 
the  Miss  Lovels,  behind,  Grace's  delight  in  her  new 
means  of  progress  would  have  been  unmixed.  One 
.day,  however,  an  understanding  was  established 
between  the  friends  on  that  subject  which  set  Grace 
at  rest  about  it  forever.  It  happened  that  on  the 
morning  of  this  day  Miss  Betsy  had  been  saying  to 
Lavinia : 

"  What  a  pity  Grace  should  devote  so  much  time 
to  painting  little  bits  of  leaves,  and  berries,  and  in- 
significant flowers  and  birds'  nests.  If  they  were 
camelias  and  greenhouse  flowers,  or  even  roses  and 
geraniums,  it  might  be  something.  I  wonder  she 
should  sink  into  such  child's  work,  after  having  really 
made  some  very  tolerable  copies  of  your  landscapes." 

But  Miss  Lavinia. said: 

"Sister,  I  would  rather  be  able  to  do  one  of 
Grace's  primroses,  than  ten  of  my  landscapes. 
And  I  would  rather  see  that  dear  child  do  them 
than  do  them  myself.  Life  is  before  her,  it  is  not 
before  me — at  least  not  the  greater  part  of  it." 

"  Well,  well,"  replied  Miss  Betsy,  "  I  only  hope 
you  won't  spoil  the  child.  Of  course  there  will  be 
fashions  in  every  thing,  and  if  you  can  go  with 
them  perhaps  it's  all  the  better.  But  I  can't  bear 
to  hear  you  undervalue  yourself,  Lavinia.  It's 


THE    WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  323 

hardly  fair,  either,  to  your  drawing-master,  who  was 
the  best  papa  could  get.  I  shall  always  think  moun- 
tains, and  lakes,  and  trees  better  worth  drawing  than 
hedge-flowers  and  birds'  eggs.  And  if  every  one 
takes  the  same  fancies,  what  is  to  become  of  our 
school  ?  There  are  two  pupils  less  this  half  than 
last.  And  one  of  the  parents  wanting  to  dictate  to 
me  how  to  teach  geography  like  the  national  school- 
mistress— another  fighting  to  have  the  guineas  re- 
duced to  sovereigns.  And  if  they  begin  to  fancy 
their  children  are  to  draw  primroses,  birds'  nests, 
etc.,  instead  of  painting  on  velvet  and  drawing 
lakes  and  mountains,  what  is  to  become  of  us  ?" 

Poor  Miss  Betsy  spoke  with  not  a  little  of  the 
bitterness  which  is  apt  to  be  infused  into  art  criti- 
cism when  daily  bread  and  theories  of  art  become 
too  closely  connected. 

"  At  the  worst,"  said  Miss  Lavinia,  smiling,  "  we 
will  ask  Grace  to  paint  us  a  nest  of  one  of  '  the 
fowls  of  the  air,'  and  hang  it  up  opposite  the  break- 
fast-table, with  the  text  belonging  to  it  underneath." 

And  Miss  Betsy  went  away  to  her  daily  pur- 
chases, wondering  at  her  sister's  victories  of  faith, 
and  quite  unaware  that  in  her  way  she  also  was 
winning  victories,  while,  proud  yet  generous  wo- 
man that  she  was,  willing  to  have  lived  on  bread 
and  water  rather  than  have  done  anything  to  betray 
their  poverty,  she  encountered  the  contemptuous 
glances  of  tradesmen  to  secure  a  little  better  bargain 
and  a  little  choicer  meal  for  her  invalid  sister  at 
home. 

"Sister,"  said  Miss  Lavinia  when  she  returned 


3  24  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

triumphant  with  her  purchases,  "  perhaps  poor  little 
Grace  may  have  herself  to  depend  on  her  own 
earnings  some  day.  Mr.  Leigh  sometimes  looks 
very  frail.  And  I  do  feel  thankful  she  is  getting  a 
better  education  than  we  could  give  her.  You 
know  fashions  will  change,  and  it  is  a  comfort  to 
think  she  may  have  a  better  chance  than  we  have." 

"Poor  child,  poor  child  !"  said  Miss  Betsy,  "  God 
knows  I  grudge  her  nothing.  And  it  will  always 
be  a  comfort  to  think  we  laid  the  foundations,  if 
she  was  obliged  to  set  up  a  quantity  of  flimsy  new- 
fangled things  on  the  top  of  them." 

At  that  moment  the  "  young  ladies"  began  to 
arrive,  and  the  sisters  had  no  more  conversation 
until  the  interval  of  dinner. 

Miss  Betsy  had  just  put  the  cold  mutton  away  for 
the  second  time,  and  calculated  that  with  a  pudding 
it  might  last  till  the  end  of  the  week,  and  had  with 
peremptory  affection  placed  her  sister  on  the  sofa, 
when  Grace  Leigh's  sweet  clear,  girlish  voice  was 
heard  at  the  door,  and  in  another  instant  the  dingy 
prosaic  lodging  room  was  brightened  by  the  quiet 
radiance  of  her  face,  always  like  something  in  the 
open  light  of  heaven,  but  at  that  moment  positively 
brimming  over  with  some  repressed  inward  delight. 

There  was  always  something  infectious  in  Grace's 
happiness.  She  had  a  way  of  making  people  feel  it 
was  only  a  drop  from  a  fountain  common  to  all,  a 
smile  from  a  love  embracing  all,  and  to  Lavinia 
Lovel  she  had  always  been  the  treasury  of  that 
motherliness  which  is  at  the  core  of  the  heart  of 
all  women  who  have  hearts,  and  who  have  not  fallen 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


325 


into  the  suicidal  delusion  of  making  pets  of  them- 
selves. With  Miss  Betsy,  Lavinia  herself  had  occu- 
pied the  child's  place,  and  Grace  rather  that  of  a 
niece,  the  child  of  a  sister  dear  to  her,  to  be  faithfully 
educated,  a  good  deal  advised,  and  also  loved,  but 
by  no  means  to  share  Lavinia's  indivisible  inherit- 
ance of  affection. 

The  sight  of  Grace's  happy  face,  therefore,  at 
that  moment,  brought  a  light  on  Miss  Lavinia's,  as 
near  a  glow  as  anything  on  that  shadowy  counte- 
nance could  be.  Very  different  the  two  faces  looked 
as  Grace  went  over  to  the  sofa.  Both  pale  in 
coloring,  but  one  pale  as  a  gray  reflection  in  a 
steel  mirror,  or  as  if  all  the  tints  had  been  mixed  to 
a  slightly  varied  neutral  on  the  pallet  before  they 
were  laid  on ;  the  other  pale  as  a  blush  rose  is  pale, 
but  with  every  tint  delicately  distinct ;  from  the 
hair,  with  the  gold  shining  on  the  rich  brown,  to 
the  soft  glow  on  the  cheek,  which  was  as  distinctly 
the  glow  of  health  and  pleasure  as  if  it  had  been 
the  brilliant  flush  on  Winnie's  face,  but  which  an- 
other shade  of  depth  would  have  brought  out  of 
harmony  with  the  pure  whiteness  of  the  smooth, 
even  brow.  Very  different — as  an  alabaster  lamp 
is  different  from  a  dull  earthenware  one  ;  yet  with 
the  same  soft  light  of  love  and  peace  shining 
through  both.  And  since  it  is  the  alabaster  and 
the  earthenware  that  are  to  perish,  and  not  the 
light,  the  resemblance  was  more  permanent  than  the 
difference. 

"  Well,  Grace,  what  is  it  ?"  murmured  Miss  La- 
vinia, in  that  faint  shadowy  <voice  which  contrasted 
28 


3 26  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

as  strongly,  though  in  a  different  way,  with  Grace's 
clear,  low,  even  tones,  as  with  Miss  Betsy's  rather 
elevated  treble. 

In  reply  to  Miss  Lavinia's  surprise,  Grace  drew  a 
long  old-fashioned  netted  purse  out  of  her  pocket, 
and  out  of  the  purse  a  five-pound  note. 

"  A  present,  Grace,  from  your  new  friends  ?"  said 
Miss  Betsy. 

"  Oh,  no,  Miss  Lovel !  better  than  that,"  said 
Grace.  "  It  is  my  very  own — I  earned  it.  It  is  for 
the  primroses  and  the  apple-blossom." 

"  Lady  Katharine  or  Mrs.  O'Brien  bought  it  then, 
I  suppose,"  said  Miss  Betsy,  a  little  stiffly.  "  It 
was  very  kind.  It  must  be  quite  an  encouragement 
to  you." 

"  No,  please,  Miss  Lovel,  it  was  my  drawing-mas- 
ter," said  Grace,  coloring  and  fluttering  a  little. 
"  Mrs.  O'Brien  knows  nothing  about  it,  nor  any  one. 
She  is  so  kind,  you  know,  I  could  never  have  asked 
her.  I  was  alone  with  him  one  day  before  Winnie 
came,  and  Harry's  clothes  have  been  so  dear,  and 
his  school-books  and  everything  lately,  and  father 
was  troubled  about  his  being  able  to  go  on  paying. 
So  I  ventured,  and  asked  him  if  he  thought  my 
drawings  would  ever  sell.  And  he  looked  at  me 
first  as  if  he  were  puzzled,  and  then  said,  as  if  to 
himself,  '  Curate  ?  Ah,  poor  curates  !  always  in 
difficulties,  always  have  ten  children  !  I  see.'  But 
I  told  him  we  were  only  two,  and  had  no  real  diffi- 
culties, and  I  only  wanted  to  know,  because  Harry 
had  to  go  to  college  to  help  him,  if  he  could,  and  I 
must  be  a  governess  one  day,  and  it  might  be  bet- 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


327 


ter  if  I  could  do  the  drawings  at  home.  Then  he 
looked^t  the  last  drawing  I  had  done,  and  put  in  a 
few  touches,  and  said,  '  There,  say  you  are  my 
pupil,  and  ask  what  you  can  get  for  that.'  But  I 
said  I  had  no  one  to  ask,  and  besides  it  was  not 
mine.  Then  hte  smiled*  and  said,  '  A  conscience 
too  !  A  brother  at  college,  and  a  conscience !  Too 
much  for  any  one  little  pair  of  hands  to  manage  at 
once.  Very  well,  since  you  won't  let  me  interfere, 
take  it  home  and  see  what  you  can  do  next  week 
by  yourself.'  And  the  next  week  he  took  my 
drawing,  and  nodded  at  it,  but  did  not  touch  it, 
and  took  it  away,  with  the  last  I  had  done  before. 
And  the  next  week,"  concluded  Grace  coloring  "  he 
brought  me  this,  and  gave  me  a  letter  to  a  person 
who  has  a  shop,  who,  he  said,  would  buy  more.  So  it 
really  is  like  a  fortune,  and  I  could  not  help  telling 
you,  because  you  are  my  own  dearest,  oldest  friends." 

And  Grace  kissed  both  the  Miss  Lovels,  and 
Miss  Lavinia  looked  at  her  with  a  fond,  motherly 
pride ;  and  Miss  Betsy,  a  good  deal  touched  by  the 
child's  confidence,  but  also  not  a  little  nettled  at 
the  art-blindness  of  the  century,  said : 

"  Well,  Grace,  my  dear,  I  am  sure  you  did  right 
to  tell  us.  Some  people  are  fortunate,  and  I  am 
sure  I  shall  be  very  glad  if  you  are  one.  And,  of 
course,  there's  no  disputing  about  taste,  and  people 
will  buy  what  they  fancy.  When  I  was  a  little 
girl  young  ladies  did  not  sell  things;  I  never 
thought  of  offering  LavnriVs  drawings  for  sale  ! 
but,  of  course,  times  change,  and  you  are  a  very 
good  little  girl  to  wish  to  help  your  father,  and  I 


328  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

only  hope,  for  your  sake,  this  fashion  for  primroses 
and  birds'  eggs  may  last." 

Which  speech  of  Miss  Betsy's  would  have  made 
it  very  difficult  for  Grace  to  bring  out  the  next 
thing  she  had  to  say,  had  not  Miss  Lavinia  added : 

"  Sister  and  I  are  so  very  glad,  Gracie.  We  shall 
thank  God  for  you  in  our  prayers  to-night,  both  of 
us.  It  must  seem  more  His  very  own  gift,  Gracie, 
than  anything.  When  rich  relations  leave  us 
money,  or  rich  friends  give  us  anything,  it  comes 
through  other  people's  hands,  and  we  have  them  to 
thank  as  well  as  God,  but  what  God  gives  us 
through  the  work  of  our  own  fingers  and  brains 
comes  straight  from  Him,  doesn't  it  ?  because  no 
one  but  God  gave  them  to  us." 

"  Yes,"  said  Grace,  looking  down  and  hesitating 
a  little,  "  no  one  but  God  gave  them,  Miss  Lavinia ; 
but  without  you,  I  should  never  have  known  how 
to  use  them.  That  is  just  what  I  wanted  to  say. 
Would  you  be  so  kind  as  to  change  this  for  me  ? 
Because,  you  know,  it  is  half  yours." 

"  Half  ours !"  said  Miss  Betsy,  "  what  can  you 
mean,  Gracie  ?" 

"  Oh,"  said  Grace,  "  please,  father  says  there  is 
no  doubt  of  it.  You  always  said,  Miss  Betsy,  when 
we  were  rich  you  would  let  him  pay  for  my  lessons, 
or  that  I  might  help  you  when  I  grew  up,  and  now 
this  is  just  the  same." 

"Why,  Gracie,  how  can  you  prove  that?"  said 
Miss  Lavinia,  in  a  faltering  voice,  "  five  pounds  is 
not  quite  a  fortune,  and  certainly  you  are  not  quite 
grown  up  yet." 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  329 

"  Not  quite  grown  up,  Miss  Lavinia,"  said  Grace, 
"  but  I  shall  be  my  next  birthday  but  one,  for  then 
I  shall  be  sixteen.     And  it  is  not  the  five  pounds 
that  is  the  fortune,  but  the  person  at  the  shop,  you 
know,  who  will  buy  more.     Father  says  it  is  quite 
plain,"  concluded  Grace,  decisively,  "  as  far  as  my 
education  would  have  cost  is  a  simple  debt,  and 
after  that  we  can  talk  about  it ;  and  I  am  either  to 
bring  it  to  you  as  I  receive  it,  or  to  put  it  in  the 
bank  in  your  name.     Father  said  it  is  God's  gift  to 
us  all.     He  said  God  had  sent  it  you  for  being  so 
good   to  me,   and  to  me  for  being — "  and  there 
Grace's  voice  broke  down.     And  the  three  friends 
wept  together,  Miss  Lavinia  and  Grace  in  silence, 
as  if  they  enjoyed  it ;  and  Miss  Betsy  with  spas- 
modic demonstrations  with  her  pocket-handkerchief, 
as  if  she  were  ashamed  of  her  tears,  and  was  deter- 
mined to  get  them  over  as  soon  as  possible.     In 
spite  of  which  controversy  with  herself,  her  feelings 
entirely  got  the  better  of  her,  and  when  Miss  La- 
vinia was  restored  to  composure,  Miss  Betsy  and  her 
pocket-handkerchief  were  still  fruitlessly  contend- 
ing with  her  emotions,  until  at  length  she  burst  into 
an  uncontrollable  wail,  and  sobbed  out : 

"  I  am  sure  God  never  sent  this  to  me  because  I 
was  good  to  any  one — never !  I'm  sure  I've  been 
as  wicked  as  Ahab  in  my  heart ;  I'm  sure,  Gracie, 
I've  worried  and  coveted  about  your  primroses  and 
birds'  eggs  as  much  as  ever  he  did  about  Naboth's 
vineyard,  and  I  shall  never  forgive  myself — never ! 
I  did  think  the  world  was  cruelly  unjust  to  Lavinia. 
I  do  still,  and  I  don't  mean,  my  dear,  that  I  ever 
28* 


330  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

shall  think  birds'  nests  equal  to  landscapes  with 
skies,  and  trees,  and  rivers — it  is  not  to  be  expected 
— but  I  ought  not  to  have  felt  as  I  did,  and  I  shall 
never  forgive  myself  to  my  dying  day.  I  know  it 
isn't  good  for  a  little  girl  to  speak  to  you  so,  my 
dear,  but  I  can't  help  it.  If  you  never  respect  me 
any  more,  Gracie,  I  can't  help  it.  All  the  scorn  in 
the  world  hasn't  half  such  a  sting  as  praise  you 
don't  deserve,  and  I  couldn't  bear  it." 

Grace  was  far  too  solemnly  impressed  with  Miss 
Betsy's  emotion  to  attempt  any  consolation.  But 
when  the  next  time  they  were  alone,  Lavinia 
said: 

"  You  will  not  misunderstand  Miss  Betsy,  Gracie. 
There  is  not  a  more  generous  heart  in  the* world. 
Her  only  fault  is  thinking  too  much  of  me." 

Grace  answered : 

"  Oh,  Miss  Lavinia,  I  was  always  grateful  to  Miss 
Betsy,  but  I  never  quite  ventured  to  love  her  in  my 
very  heart,  until  the  other  day." 

It  was  not  without  a  little  further  struggle  that 
Miss  Betsy  Lovel  consented  to  accept  any  portion 
of  Grace's  earnings.  Lavinia,  trying  things  by  her 
simpler  rules,  had  no  difficulty  on  the  subject.  "  It 
was  a  delight  to  help  Gracie,"  she  said,  "  and,  of 
course,  it  would  be  much  pleasanter  never  to  be 
paid ;  but  it  is  God's  will  that  we  want  it,  and  that 
she  can  give  it.  And  we  must  do  as  we  would  be 
done  by."  And  considering  the  value  of  Lavinia's 
instruction  in  accomplishments,  Miss  Betsy  was  at 
last  persuaded  to  receive  a  fifth  of  the  money  paid 
for  Grace's  paintings,  until  the  fifty  pounds  which 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  33, 

she  declared  was  ample  payment  for  her  education 
had  heen  paid. 

On  the  strength  of  the  first  sovereign,  Miss  Betsy 
recklessly  insisted  on  lavishing  eighteen  pence  on 
an  expedition,  partly  by  boat  and  partly  by  omni- 
bus, to  St.  James'  Park.  It  made  one  feel  one  was 
an  Englishwoman,  she  said,  to  walk  once  more  by 
the  Admiralty,  and  under  the  great  gates  of  the 
Horse  Guards.  Miss  Lavinia,  also,  had  her  own 
tender,  shadowy  associations  with  Somerset  House ; 
and  as  the  sisters  subsided  on  one  of  the  seats  near 
the  pond,  and  watched  the  beautifully  dressed  chil- 
dren feeding  the  ducks,  certainly  not  one  of  the 
children  there  had  for  the  moment  a  simpler  enjoy- 
ment of  life  than  the  two  antiquated-looking  old 
ladies  who  watched  them.  Probably,  indeed,  there 
were  few  of  the  little  miniature  representations  of 
the  Modes  de  Paris  there  that  day  who  would  not 
have  looked  down  on  the  simple  old  ladies  for  their 
ignorance  of  the  world  and  its  ways. 

Miss  Adela  Hunter,  at  all  events,  was  decidedly 
of  that  way  of  thinking,  as  she  manifested  very 
plainly  when,  having  seated  herself  for  a  few  min- 
utes with  her  maid  beside  Miss  Lavinia,  that  lady 
addressed  a  few  mild  observations  to  her  in  a  soft 
and  chirrupping  voice  concerning  the  ducks  and 
the  sunshine,  Miss.Adela  vouchsafed  no  reply  but  a 
lofty  stare  of  inspection,  which  made  Miss  Lavinia 
quiver  all  over  with  a  nervous  terror  that  she  had 
put  on  her  bonnet  wrong,  or  her  shawl  inside  out, 
or  made  some  other  preposterous  mistake  in  her  toi- 
lette, and  which  drew  from  the  belligerent  Miss 


332  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

Betsy  some  laconic  moral  observations   on  good 
breeding,  addressed  abruptly  to  her  sister. 

"  Think  what  impertinence,"  said  Miss  Adela  to 
Mr.  Hunter,  on  her  return  home,  "  a  person  in  an 
old  brown-black  silk  bonnet,  and  a  cloth  cloak  which 
looked  as  if  she  had  made  it  herself,  and  ridiculous 
corkscrew  ringlets  right  on  each  side  of  her  face, 
and  cotton  gloves,  and  no  crinoline,  ventured  to 
speak  to  me  on  a  seat  in  St.  James'  Park !" 

"  Of  course  you  know  how  to  check  such  an  in- 
trusion," said  Mr.  Hunter. 

"  Yes ;  I  hope  so,  indeed.  I  looked  at  her  quietly 
for  a  minute  or  two  until  she  blushed  and  did  seem 
to  feel  what  a  liberty  she  had  taken ;  and  another 
person  beside  her,  with  a  small  old-fashioned  shawl 
hung  on  her  round  shoulders  like  a  peg,  and  a  great 
vulgar  hair  brooch  set  in  silver,  and  a  black  straw 
bonnet,  such  as  no  servant  in  our  house  would  have 
worn,  and  her  dress  so  short  I  saw  the  tips  of  her 
rusty  old  boots  as  she  was  sitting,  actually  began 
to  talk  at  me  about  young  ladies  having  been  taught 
good  manners  when  she  was  young,  but  now,  she 
supposed,  when  every  shopwoman  who  could  buy  a 
silk  dress  called  herself  a  lady,  things  were  al- 
tered." 

"  I  hope  you  did  not  condescend  to  make  any  re- 
ply, Adela  ?  Where  could  these  people  have  come 
from?" 

"  I  don't  know,  I  am  sure,"  said  Adela ;  "  from 
underground  somewhere,  I  suppose." 

But  little  Maud  interposed : 

"  Did  they  look  old,  Adela  ?  " 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  333 

"  Old,  of  course  they  did ;  worse  than  old — elder- 
ly. Two  abominable,  antiquated  old  maids." 

"  But  perhaps  they  were  poor,  and  could  not  help 
not  having  prettier  clothes,"  said  Maud. 

"  Of  course  they  were  poor,"  said  Adela.  "  Then 
what  right  had  they  to  speak  to  me  ?  Besides,  they 
were  worse  than  poor.  They  were  what  nurse  used 
to  call  *  shabby  genteel,'  which  is  rwhat  every  one 
despises,  nurse  said,  poor  and  rich,  alike." 

"Perhaps  the  poor  old  lady  with  the  ringlets 
meant  to  be  kind,  Adela,"  continued  Maud.  "I 
hope  she  was  not  very  much  vexed  at  your  looking 
at  her  in  that  way." 

"  I  hope  she  was  vexed  enough  to  learn  not  to  do 
it  again,"  retorted  Adela,  and  Maud  kept  the  rest 
of  her  compassionate  thoughts  to  herself. 

In  the  mean  time  it  was  not  until  after  one  or  two 
turns  by  the  park  guns,  and  the  sight  of  a  cavalry 
officer  careering  through  the  park,  had  reminded 
Miss  Betsy  of  her  connection  with  the  great  insti- 
tutions of  her  country,  that  her  temper  recovered 
its  calmness. 

"An  impertinent,  conceited  little  upstart!"  said 
Miss  Betsy,  as  she  took  her  seat  beside  her  sister 
again.  "  I  have  no  doubt  her  grandfather  swepj  out 
a  shop."  With  which  oriental  denunciation  of  the 
offender's  ancestry,  Miss  Lovel  rinsed  out  the  last 
drop  of  vengeance  from  her  heart,  and  was  free  once 
more  to  enjoy  the  sunshine  and  the  holiday. 

Miss  Lavinia,  on  the  other  hand,  clothed  in  the 
impenetrable  soft  armor  of  humility,  had  been  en- 


WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

tirely  unpierced  by  the  shafts  from  Miss  Adela's 
scornful  eyes,  and  being  once  reassured  as  to  noth- 
ing being  wrong  in  her  dress,  had  dropped  back 
into  the  current  of  her  meek  and  grateful  thoughts. 

"  Whose  grandfather  swept  out  what  shop,  Bet- 
sy ?"  was  her  ungrammatical  and  rather  absent  re- 
ply to  her  sister's  last  observation.  "  I  was  looking 
at  the  water-fowl.  What  beautiful  arrowheads  they 
are  making  on  the  water.  Only  look  at  them  cross- 
ing the  deep  green  reflections  with  those  sunny 
lines." 

"  Yes,  my  dear ;  it's  just  like  your  picture  of  the 
Lake  of  Geneva,  and  you  are  just  like  an  angel ; 
but  it's  a  blessing  you  have  got  a  poor  old  woman 
like  me  with  a  little  spirit  to  take  care  of  you.  I 
do  think  it  is,  Lavinia,  as  we  haven't  got  into  the 
millennium  yet." 

Grace  Leigh  was  sitting  at  a  table  in  the  window 
eagerly  using  the  last  relics  of  daylight  for  her 
drawings,  when  a  soft  knock  was  heard,  at  the 
door,  and  a  faint  little  petition  in  Fan's  voice  to 
be  allowed  to .  come  in.  Grace  thought  it  was 
probably  some  fresh  offense  of  poor  Fan's  uncertain 
fingers,  or  some  other  small  confidence,  but  she 
kne^  it  betokened  an  interruption,  which  would 
consume  the  little  remaining  daylight,  and  she  was 
at  that  moment  putting  the  last  delicate  touches  to 
the  petal  of  a  daisy.  At  first  she  was  tempted  to 
proceed  with  her  work,  giving  meanwhile  a  paren- 
thetical attention  to  Fan.  But  she  was  used  to  con- 
sider other  people's  aftairs  of  at  least  as  much  im- 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 

portance  as  her  own,  and  she  had  moreover  a  belief 
that  interruptions  were  often  more  directly  the  Mas- 
ter's real  daily  work  for  us  than  the  tasks  we  set 
ourselves ;  so  after  one  momentary  lingering  look 
at  her  almost  finished  flowers,  she  decisively  laid 
down  her  brush,  rose  from  the  table,  and  went  to 
speak  to  Fan  and  let  her  in. 

But  when  Fan  appeared  all  regrets  about  her  own 
lost  time  vanished  from  Grace's  heart  at  once.  So 
woe-begone  was  the  little  face,  the  eyes,  now  dry, 
so  red  and  swollen  with  weeping.  Grace  took  the 
cold  little  hand  and  held  it  in  both  hers,  and  with  the 
touch  the  flood  of  Fan's  tears  and  words  was  op- 
ened at  once,  and  she  sobbed  out : 

"  Oh,  Dan,  brother  Dan,  he's  got  the  throat ! 
And  missis  won't  let  me  go  nigh  him." 

"  Where  is  he,  Fan  ?"  said  Grace. 

"  In  the  hospital,"  said  Fan ;  "  and  missis  won't 
let  me  go.  She  says  I  should  catch  it  and  die. 
But  what  would  it  matter  to  me,  or  any  one,  Miss 
Grace,  if  Dan  don't  get  better  ?  Oh,  Miss  Grace, 
do  ask  missis  to  let  me  go,  and  do  please  get  me 
in.  I  would  do  anything,  or  I  would  do  nothing 
all  day,  and  never  speak  a  word,  if  they'd  only  let 
me  sit  by  Dan's  bed  and  look  at  him.  He's  my 
own  brother,  Miss  Grace,"  she  said,  bursting  into  a 
sense  of  her  womanly  rights,  "  my  own  brother, 
and  he's  no  one  but  me,  Dan  hasn't,  and  I've  got  a 
right,  more  right  than  missis  or  any  one,  to  go  to 
him.  Oh,  don't  let  them  keep  me  away." 

It  was  some  time  before  Grace  could  make  Fan 
understand  that  the  barrier  which  kept  her  from 


336  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

Dan  was  not  "missis'  will,"  supreme  as  that  ap- 
peared to  Fan,  but  all  manner  of  medical  and  social 
regulations  entirely  beyond  the  control  of  Mrs. 
Treherne  or  Mr.  Leigh. 

When  at  last  Fan  began  to  perceive  that  she  was 
separated  from  her  brother  not  by  an  arbitrary 
will  which  might  be  softened  or  persuaded,  but  by 
an  immutable  impersonal  wall  of  rules  and  prohibi- 
tions, no  more  to  be  melted  by  tears  than  the  walls 
of  the  hospital  itself,  that  it  was  not  cruelty  but 
necessity  which  kept  her  from  Dan,  she  ceased  to 
weep ;  but  a  stony  look  of  hopelessness  froze  over 
her  face  which  Grace  had  no  words  to  meet.  Be- 
fore those  stony  barriers  the  very  heart  of  poor  Fan 
seemed  to  turn  into  stone.  And  Grace  could  do 
nothing  but  draw  the  little  still,  cold  form  close  to 
her,  and  kneel  down  with  her  arm  around  the  child, 
and  have  recourse  to  the  one  remedy  she  used  for 
all  her  troubles.  "  Say  it  after  me,  dear  Fan,  if 
you  can,"  she  said.  And  she  began :  "  Our  Father" 
"  Our  Father,7  sobbed  Fan.  "  Our  Father,  which 
art  in  heaven,  hallowed  be  thy  name,  thy  kingdom  come, 
thy  will  be  done  on  earth"  But  there  Fan  broke 
down.  "  I  can't,  Miss  Grace,"  she  whispered.  "  Oh, 
please,  Miss  Grace,  I  can't.  Suppose  it  should  be 
God's  will  to — to,"  and  she  could  say  no  more. 

Grace  was  perplexed  for  an  instant,  and  then  she 
said :  "  Then  we  will  go  back,  Fan  ;  we  will  go  as 
far  as  you  can.  Our  Father"  she  began  again,  and 
again  little  Fan  sobbed  "Our  Father,"  "Our 
Father,"  over  and  over  again,  and  could  get  no 
further  than  "  Our  Father,"  and  "  Oh,  Miss  Grace  ; 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  337 

our  Father !  poor  brother  Dan !  Oh,  brother,  brother ! 
our  Father  /" 

And  Grace  thought  God  would  understand,  and 
would  take  that  for  poor  Fan's  prayer;  so  she 
said  no  more.  But  they  knelt  together,  and  their 
tears  fell  together  as  Grace  drew  the  child's 
face  to  hers,  until  Fan's  sobs  were  quieted,  and 
Grace  said  softly,  "For  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ's, 
sake,"  and  they  rose,  and  Fan  was  comforted ;  she 
could  not  have  told  why,  she  could  not  have  spoken 
the  words,  Thy  will  be  done;  but  Grace  hoped 
that  God  would  take  Fan's  "  Our  Father"  for  the 
same.  To  say  "  Our  Father "  from  the  inmost 
depths  of  the  heart,  Grace  thought,  is  to  say  all 
that  prayer  can  say.  Little  Fan  had  once  more 
penetrated  through  the  iron  barrier  of  things  to 
the  living  will  of  a  living  Person,  and  not  an  arbi- 
trary will,  but  the  will  of  perfect  wisdom  and  love. 

They  had  stood  for  a  few  minutes  together,  and 
Grace  had  just  read  to  Fan  the  story  of  Jairus* 
daughter  from  the  Gospels,  while  Fan's  sobs  had 
gradually  lulled,  when  Maurice  came  in  to  see  Mr. 
Leigh,  and  Fan  left. 

Grace  had  been  planning  in  her  own  mind  how 
it  could  be  managed  to  get  an  interview  with  Dan ; 
but  being  herself  nearly  as  much  in  the  dark  as 
Fan  as  to  hospital  regulations,  she  had  arrived  at 
110  definite  purpose,  and  she  would  not  on  any  ac- 
count have  spoken  of  any  such  hopes  to  Fan  unless 
she  were  sure  they  could  be  fulfilled. 

Maurice  entered  into  Fan's  troubles  at  once.     "  I 
will  go  this -very  evening,"  he  said. 
29 


338  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

"  There  is  infection,  Fan  says,"  said  Grace. 

"  Then  it  is  just  the  case  for  me,"  he  said.  "  You 
know  I  have  no  Mrs.  Treherne  at  home,  with  little 
children,  whose  lives  might  be  endangered.  Be- 
sides, Dan  is  my  friend  and  parishioner." 

Grace  looked  perplexed  and  distressed. 

"  But  there  is  Winnie,  Mr.  Bertram,"  she  said. 

"  Do  you  think  I  ought  not  to  go,  Grace  ?"  he 
said.  "  What  would  you  wish  Harry  to  do  in  my 
place  ?" 

She  hesitated  an  instant,  and  a  shade  came  across 
her  face ;  but  then  she  looked  up  with  a  soft  de- 
termination in  her  eyes,  and  said : 

"  I  think  I  should  wish  Harry  to  go,  Mr.  Bertram." 

"  And  I  am  sure  you  would,  Grace,"  he  said. 

He  moved  to  leave  the  room,  but  at  the  door,  he 
turned  back,  and  said  : 

"  Is  Harry  getting  on  with  his  Greek  and  Latin  ?" 

"  Not  very  well,  Mr.  Bertram,"  said  Grace,  with 
a  look  of  distress.  "  He  doesn't  like  it ;  and  I  am 
so  afraid  he  never  will.  But  I  must  not  despair.  I 
do  so  want  Harry  to  be  a  clergyman,  Mr.  Bertram ; 
and  if  he  does  not  get  on  with  the  Greek  and  Latin, 
how  can  he  ?" 

"  Does  Harry  wish  to  be  a  clergyman  ?" 

"  I  hope  he  does — I  hope  he  will,"  said  Grace,  a 
little  doubtfully ;  "  he  does  try,  indeed,  to  do  what 
he  thinks  father  and  I  like ;  and  by-and-by  I  do 
hope  it  will  be  his  very  own  wish.  Harry  is  not  at 
all  thoughtless — not  careless  about  religion,  Mr. 
Bertram,"  she  concluded,  as  if  she  feared  she  had 
been  accusing  him. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  339 

"But  every  one  who  is  really  and  truly  religious 
need  not  be  a  clergyman,"  he  said. 

She  looked  troubled. 

"  But  I  want  Harry  to  be  the  very  best  thing," 
she  said. 

"  The  very  best  thing,"  he  said,  "  is  what  God 
means  us  to  be,  is  it  not  ?  And  God  does  not  mean 
every  one  to  be  a  clergyman.  You  will  not  be  like 
the  vine  on  the  ruined  temple  column,  will  you  ?" 
he  added,  gently,  answering  an  anxious  look  that 
saddened  her  face. 

"  The  vine  on  the  temple  !  what  is  that,  Mr.  Ber- 
tram ?"  she  asked. 

"  Only  one  of  Winnie's  parables,"  he  replied. 
"  A  vine  had  entwined  itself  around  the  column  of 
a  ruined  temple  in  a  palace-garden.  One  night  a 
hurricane  swept  over  the  land,  and  threw  down  the 
portion  of  the  roof  this  column  had  supported. 
The  next  morning  the  vine  hung  drooping  around 
the  column.  The  gardener  came  round  and  looked 
anxiously  at  the  fading  leaves.  At  first  he  thought 
the  storm  must  have  broken  it ;  but  root,  and  stem, 
and  branches,  all  were  firm  and  healthy.  { What 
ails  this  vine  ?'  he  said ;  and  an  answer  came  rust- 
ling back  to  him  from  the  drooping  leaves  :  '  We 
have  failed  in  the  work  the  Master  gave  us  to  do. 
We  were  set  here  to  support  the  temple-roof,  and 
the  roof  has  fallen.  We  have  failed  in  our  work.' 
Then  the  gardener  smiled,  and  held  up  a  ripening 
cluster  of  rich  purple  grapes,  and  said :  '  This  is  the 
work  the  master  set  thee  to  do,  and  thou  hast  done 
1C  Then  a  thrill  of  new  life  stirred  through  every 


340  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

twig,  and  the  sap  flowed  freshly  through  every  little 
cell  and  fibre." 

Grace  looked  thoughtful,,  as  if  the  lesson  would 
take  her  some  time  to  learn. 

And  Maurice  went  down  stairs ;  but  before  he 
reached  the  lowest  step  he  turned  back  again  and 
said: 

"  Mr.  Leigh  will  not  expect  to  see  me  again  for 
some  little  time.  I  do  not  think  anything  of  the 
danger  of  infection,  but  some  people  do,  and  I 
must  keep  clear  of  my  friends  for  a  time." 

His  voice  was  very  cheerful,  but  Grace  felt  as  if 
the  closing  of  the  door  as  he  left  the  house  were 
the  falling  of  a  weight  on  her  heart.  Her  memory 
went  back  through  all  the  years  since  she  had  crept 
through  the  snow,  a  little  trembling  child,  to  ask 
Mr.  Bertram's  help  for  her  father ;  she  thought  of 
the  many  desponding  hours  he  had  lightened  for 
Mr.  Leigh  ;  of  the  many  difficulties  through  which 
he  had  helped  Harry  to  struggle  ;  of  the  many  en- 
couraging words  he  had  spoken  to  her.  And  then 
she  thought  of  the  little  sister  who  loved  him  with 
such  entire  devotion;  how  Winnie  would  watch 
for  him  at  the  garden-gate,  and  not  see  him  for  so 
long,  until  she  felt  like  a  traitress  for  saying  a  word 
to  induce  him  to  venture  into  danger  on  account  of 
Dan.  Then  her  thoughts  went  back  to  little  Fan 
and  the  Lord's  Prayer,  until  the  words  which  had 
been  too  much  for  poor  Fan's  courage  rang  once 
more  through  her  heart,  not,  this  time,  in  trembling 
accepts  of  submission,  but  in  ringing  tones  like  a 
trumpet-call  to  the  field  of  battle.  "  Thy  will  be 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  341 

done,  thy  will  be  done  !"  said  Grace.  "  It  must  be 
done — Dan  must  be  helped.  Oh,  our  Father,  give 
us  grace  to  do  it.  Give  Winnie  strength  to  choose 
that  her  brother  should  do  it." 

And  then  Grace  went  back  to  the  old  poems  of 
her  childhood ;  to.  the  plains  where  the  heroes 
fought,  while  the  women  and  the  old  men  watched 
from  the  walls ;  and  she  thought,  "  Andromache 
could  not  have  loved  Hector  as  she  did,  if  she  had 
not  known  he  would  not  yield  to  her  prayers,  and 
desert  the  field.  And  Winnie  will  be  as  brave  as 
Andromache.  I  am  sure  God  will  strengthen  her 
to  be.  For  this  world  is  a  battlefield  always — the 
Bible  says  so  ;  only  the  women's  part  of  the  battle 
has  to  be  fought  very  often,  I  suppose,  in  their  own 
heart,  watching  from  the  walls." 

So  the  very  next  morning  Grace  went  to  tell  Mrs. 
O'Brien  and  Winnie  about  Dan,  and  to  ask  Win- 
nie's forgiveness  for  telling  Maurice,  and  to  comfort 
her  concerning  Maurice. 

Mrs.  O'Brien  looked  very  grave  when  Grace  told 
them  about  Dan.  t  There  had  been  many  cases  of 
death  lately  from  diphtheria,  and  she  was  not  quite 
sure  as  to  the  necessity  of  Maurice  visiting  him ; 
so  that  Grace  apologized,  and  said : 

"  I  did  not  think  of  Mr.  Bertram's  going  to  the 
hospital  when  I  told  him.  I  only  wanted  him  to 
tell  us  what  to  do." 

But  Winnie  interfered : 

"  But  you  would  have  told  Maurice  if  you  had 
thought  he  would  go,  wouldn't  you,  Grace  ?" 

"  I  think  I  should,"  said  Grace,  a  little  timidly. 
29* 


342  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

"  I  hope  you  would  forgive  me,  Winnie.  But  it 
does  seem  right  for  him  to  go — at  least  Mr.  Ber- 
tram thought  so." 

"  Of  course  Maurice  thought  so,"  replied  Winnie, 
her  eyes  flashing  and  her  cheek  flushing ;  "  and  of 
course  I  think  so  ;  and  you  will  think  so  too,  auntie. 
I  am  sure  I  would  not  have  had  Maurice  not  go 
for  the  world.  What  is  he  a  clergyman  for  if 
he  is  not  to  help  people  when  other  people 
cannot,  and  when  they  want  it  most,  like  Dan  ? 
Only  I  do  wish  I  were  a  woman,  that  I  might 
go  too." 

There  was  no  occasion  to  cite  examples  from  the 
Iliad  to  Winnie  as  to  the  place  of  the  heroes.  As 
to  the  place  of  the  women,  she  was  not  quite  so 
clear ;  for  when,  a  little  while  afterwards,  a  letter 
arrived  from  Maurice,  saying  that  he  founii  Dan's 
was  a  very  bad  case,  making  light  of  the  danger  of 
infection,  but  saying  he  thought  it  better  not  to  see 
Mrs.  O'Brien  while  he  was  continuing  to  visit  the 
hospital,  Winnie's  courage  rather  failed.  The  kind- 
ling eye  was  softened  with  teafs,  the  determined 
lips  quivered,  and  she  said : 

"  Oh  auntie,  let  me  go  at  once  to  Maurice's 
house.  If  he  cannot  come  here,  please  let  me  go 
to  him ;  because,  you  know,  if  he  came  to  be  in  the 
least  ill,  I  must  go,  auntie,  and  I  might  as  well  go 
at  first — don't  you  think  so  ?" 

But  Mrs.  O'Brien  was  entirely  of  a  different 
opinion.  It  was  her  duty  to  Winifred's  parents, 
she  said,  to  keep  her  from  seeing  Maurice  until  all 
possible  risk  of  infection  was  over.  And  gentle  as 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


343 


Mrs.  O'Brien's  language  was,  Winnie  found  her 
determination  on  this  occasion  firm  as  adamant. 

So  she  also,  like  little  Fan,  had  to  begin  her  expe- 
rience of  the  woman's  share  in  the  battle — the 
invocations  in  the  Temple,  and  the  watching  from 
the  walls. 


CHAPTER   X. 

|  HAT  night,  while  the  little  sister  in  the 
garret  was  sleeping  the  sweet  sleep  of 
the  laboring,  with  little  Sally  Treherne's 
hand  nestling  in  hers ;  and  while  the 
little  sister  at  the  Cedars  had  at  length  fallen  into 
tranquil  slumber  with  her  flushed  cheek  resting  on 
the  pillow,  underneath  which  lay  her  mother's 
Bible ;  each  with  tears  of  loving  anxiety  on  her 
face,  and  with  the  peace  of  childlike  prayer  in  her 
heart,  there  was  no  sleep  for  Maurice  or  Dan.  "With 
fearful  rapidity  the  mysterious  disease  had  drained 
away  the  springs  of  the  poor  lad's  life,  and  nothing 
but  continued  stimulants  kept  him  from  sinking 
into  faintings,  out  of  which  the  doctor  said  he 
might  too  probably  never  rally. 

Maurice  had  remained  with  him.  Such  a  faint 
tender  return  of  Dan's  old  bright  smile  came  over 
his  face  when  Maurice  came,  and  such  a  wistful 
despairing  look  had  gloomed  in  his  poor  hollow 
eyes  when  he  was  about  to  leave,  that  he  had  not 
the  heart  to  come  away  at  all.  Having  obtained 
permission  to  share  the  watching,  he  wrote  a  hasty 
(344) 


WINIFRED  BERTRAM.  345 

letter  to  Mrs.  O'Brien,  and  then  crept  quietly  back 
to  the  sick-bed  to  do  what  he  could  there. 

It  was  no  time  for  words  or  for  "  spiritual  minis- 
trations." Beds  of  dangerous  sickness  seldom  are. 
All  the  bodily  strength  is  needed  to  bear  the  reme- 
dies. All  excitement  is  forbidden,  and  if  it  were 
not,  the  mind,  weakened  with  the  body,  has  seldom 
power  for  anything  but  a  childlike  instinctive  cling- 
ing to  old  familiar  truths,  or  rather  to  long-trusted 
love.  Alas  for  those  who  at  such  times  have  no 
instincts,  or  half-instinctive  habits,  of  renewed 
spiritual  life  to  guide  them  ! 

But  with  Dan,  Maurice  felt  sure  those  truths  and 
that  love  were  not  now  first  to  be  sought  or  proved. 
It  was,  therefore,  a  great  perplexity  and  distress  to 
him  when  once  he  ventured  to  whisper  a  promise 
of  the  Bible  while  giving  Dan  his  medicine,  to  per- 
ceive no  responsive  look  in  the  poor  lad's  face,  but 
instead,  a  gaze  of  wistful,  anxious  questioning,  as 
of  one  who  had  called  for  help,  and  was  listening 
and  listening,  and  could  hear  no  answer. 

Maurice  could  say  no  more  then ;  but  in  the  quiet 
intervals  of  that  long  listless  night,  when  he  did 
not  venture  to  move  a  finger,  in  the  hope  the  patient 
might  be  sleeping,  his  thoughts  went  sadly  back 
to  the  little  garret  in  the  alley  where  he  had  first 
seen  Dan,  so  suffering  and  destitute,  yet  so  happy 
in  his  unquestioning  child's  faith  in  the  Presence  of 
God  with  him  all  day  (though  hidden  "  like  the 
stars  in  the  light"),  and  in  the  love  of  God  which 
was  better  than  "  mothers,"  and  in  Jesus  who  took 
the  children  in  His  arms. 


346  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

What  dreary  change  had  come  over  the  lad  that 
that  Name  brought  no  light  into  his  face  now  ? 

Had  he  failed  in  his  care  over  this  lamb  of  the 
Great  Shepherd's  flock  ?  While  caring  for  Dan's 
earthly  wants,  and  providing  him  with  the  means 
of  maintaining  himself,  had  he  left  him  alone  to 
struggle  with  the  terrible  tempter  in  the  wilder- 
ness, "  an  hungered  "  among  the  wild  beasts  ? 

Maurice  recalled  many  a  time  when  he  had 
sought  to  keep  open  by  friendly  conversation  the 
confidence  Dan  had  once  given  him.  He  remem- 
bered also  that  he  had  observed  lately  how  this 
confidence  seemed  to  have  grown  more  reserved. 
But  until  now  this  had  not  troubled  him.  He  had 
thought  it  was  merely  the  natural  change  from 
childhood  to  youth,  when  the  intenser  personal 
consciousness  of  dawning  manhood  gathers  the 
soul  into  itself,  and  makes  it  silent,  with  the  silence 
of  those  "  nights  "  of  life,  which  are  as  essential  as 
the  "  days  "  to  the  growth  of  the  good  seed.  He 
had  a  horror  of  forced  confidences,  or  rather  a  con- 
viction of  their  impossibility.  Such  violent  pump- 
ings  out  of  experience,  Maurice  thought,  commonly 
only  succeeded  in  extracting  what  has  previously 
been  pumped  in.  The  deep  springs  of  the  heart 
remain  unstirred.  True  confidence,  he  believed,  is 
scarcely  more  at  the  control  of  the  giver  than  of 
the  receiver.  It  flows  when  the  subterranean  reser- 
voirs are  full,  and  not  else.  Yet  Maurice  knew  that 
there  are  moments  when  the  heart  is  bursting  to 
speak,  and  yet  unable  of  itself  to  break  the  barrier 
of  timidity,  until  the  floods  are  set  free  by  some 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


347 


destructive  convulsion,  to  desolate  and  destroy, 
which  the  slightest  touch  of  love  might  have  un- 
sealed, to  fertilize  and  freshen.  Had  he  watched 
as  he  ought  for  such  moments  with  Dan  ?  Had  he 
waited  as  he  ought  on  the  Hand  in  which  the  hearts 
of  men  are  held  always  as  the  rivers  of  water  ? 

Very  easy  questions  to  answer  or  to  evade  in  the 
ordinary  course  of  life ;  but  very  apt  to  recur,  and 
to  be  found  very  hard  to  answer,  and  quite  impossi- 
ble to  evade,  by  sick  or  dying  beds,  when  the  heart 
which  we  might  have  reached  is  sealed  to  us,  and 
the  voice  which  might  have  spoken  to  us  is  silent, 
or  startles  us  with  the  abrupt  questionings  of  deli- 
rium. Maurice  found  no  answer  but  a  very  humble 
expression  of  short-comings  to  God,  and  a  very 
earnest  prayer  that  the  feeble  breath  of  life  beside 
him  might  not  fail. 

So  many  days  passed  on,  and  Maurice  spent  all 
the  time  of  the  day  or  night  that  he  could  spare  in 
watching  by  Dan's  sick-bed. 

Thus  it  happened  that  while  Winnie  was  think- 
ing of  him  as  a  hero,  and  seriously  considering 
whether  she  might  not  include  him  in  the  "  noble 
army  of  martyrs "  when  she  sang  the  Te  Deum, 
and  Fan  was  thinking  of  him  as  an  angel  of  grace, 
Maurice  was  feeling  himself  a  very  neglectful  and 
unprofitable  servant,  whose  only  hope  it  was  that 
God  in  His  great  mercy  would  give  him  another 
opportunity  of  doing  the  duty  he  had  failed  to  do. 
A  state  of  feeling  more  common,  perhaps,  among 
the  holy  Church  throughout  the  world,  and  even 
with  the  noble  army  of  martyrs,  than  some  writers 


348  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

of  religious  biography  and  oraisons  funebres  would 
lead  us  to  imagine. 

But  at  length  the  day  came  when  the  prayers  of 
the  little  sister  in  the  garret  looking  on  the  sky, 
and  the  little  sister  in  the  room  in  the  pleasant 
home  looking  over  lawn,  and  wood,  and  distant 
hills,  those  prayers  which  had  for  so  many  days 
been  meeting  on  their  way  to  heaven,  were  changed 
into  thanksgivings. 

Little  Fan  came  to  another  depth  too  deep  for 
words  as  she  sobbed  out  her  thanks  to  God  that 
brother  Dan  was  mending ;  and  Winnie  quite  en- 
tered into  the  old  Hebrew  expressions  about  the 
heart  leaping  and  dancing  for  joy,  as  she  rose  one 
morning  and  thought  of  Maurice's  promise  to  come 
and  see  them  on  the  next  day  but  one,  which  was 
Monday,  when  all  fear  of  carrying  infection,  he 
said,  would  be  over. 

But  Maurice's  own  thanksgivings  were  deeper 
still,  for  on  the  morning  before,  Dan  had  been  re- 
moved, at  Mrs.  Anderson's  request,  to  a  room  in 
her  house,  where  she  could  look  in  on  him,  and  see 
to  al\  he  wanted,  and  on  that  very  morning  the 
long  pent-up  tide  of  perplexities  and  doubts  had 
found  its  way  from  poor  Dan's  heart  into  his. 

The  very  utterance  had  greatly  relieved  the  poor 
lad.  '.There  are  many  goblins  which  only  need  to 
be  tempted  to  the  threshold  of  the  heart  to  melt  at 
once  into  nothingness  by  the  mere  force  of  day- 
light. There  are  many  perplexities  which  are  an- 
swered in  the  mere  utterance  of  them. 

Yet  Pan's  fight  had  been  a  very  real  one.     It  is 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  349 

the  necessary  solitariness  of  all  true  spiritual  strug- 
gles that  constitutes  more  than  half  the  struggle. 
These  battles  have  to  be  fought  in  the  darkness. 
The  enemy  chooses  his  field  and  his  hour.  We 
cannot  see  the  forces  we  are  fighting  with.  And  if 
the  shield  of  faith  falls  from  the  grasp — faith  in 
Him  who  can  see,  who  had  His  hour  of  darkness, 
and  is  evermore  the  Light  for  all,  we  are  helpless 
indeed. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Bertram,"  Dan  said  at  length,  on  the 
morning  after  his  reaching  the  quiet  room  at  Mrs. 
Anderson's,  when  Maurice  had  been  reading  him 
one  of  the  Gospel  narratives  of  the  crucifixion, 
"  you  believe  it  is  all  true  !  It  is  not  only  that 
you  are  a  parson,  and  that  you  wish  it  was  true ; 
you  believe  it  is  true  in  your  very  heart ;  don't 
you  ?  As  true  as  that  you  see  me  ?" 

"  I  do,"  said  Maurice,  recalling  his  own  hours  of 
doubt  and  darkness.  "  I  have  never  doubted  this 
history,  only  my  own." 

"  You  have  had  doubts  too,  then  ?"  said  Dan 
eagerly.  But  then  he  added  with  a  languid  hope- 
lessness, "  But  not  like  mine,  not  like  mine  I" 

"No  two  people's  doubts  and  temptations  are 
alike,  Dan,"  said  Maurice ;  "  the  tempter  has  too 
many  wiles  to  employ  the  same  twice." 

"  Yes,  the  tempter  !"  sighed  Dan  ;  "  Mrs.  Ander- 
son said  it  was  the  tempter.  Oh,  I  wish  I  could  be 
sure  it  was  I" 

"  Did  you  say  anything  to  Mrs.  Anderson,  then  ?" 
asked  Maurice. 

"  O«nly  last  night,  when  she  had  smoothed  my 
30  * 


250  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

pillow  like  a  mother,  and  kissed  my  forehead,  and 
read  me  a  Psalm,  and  I  was  so  miserable,  and  felt 
such  an  impostor,  I  could  not  help  saying,  '  O,  if  I 
only  could  believe  !'  and  she  said,  *  Believe  that  you 
have  an  interest  in  Christ  ?'  And  I  said,  *  Oh,  if  I 
could  believe  that  there  is  Christ  /'  But  she  looked 
so  grieved-like,  and  told  me  to  beware  of  the  tempt- 
er, and  never  let  such  thoughts  in,  and  above  all, 
never  speak  them  out,  so  that  I  could  not  say 
another  word.  But  she  said  she'd  pray  for  me." 

"  And  she  will,"  said  Maurice,  "  which  is  better 
than  many  arguments.  Did  you  ever  tell  any  one 
else  of  your  difficulties,  Dan  ?" 

"  Once  I  was  beginning  with  a  missionary  kind 
of  a  gentleman,  but  he  spoke  so  learned,  and  said 
such  terrible  things  about  conceit  and  presumption, 
that  I  was  shut  up  altogether,  and  never  dared  to 
breathe  a  word  of  what  I  felt  to  any  one." 

"  You  never  spoke  even  to  me,  Dan." 

"  Once,  Mr.  Bertram,  I  was  very  near  it.  If  you 
had  stayed  five  minutes  longer  I  must.  You  spoke 
to  me  about  the  day  you  came  to  me  in  the  garret 
at  aunt's  and  said  you  hoped  I  had  the  same  happy 
faith  as  then." 

"  That  five  minutes  might  have  saved  you  much 
misery,  my  poor  fellow,"  said  Maurice  ;  "I  must  have 
neglected  you  sadly,  I  am  afraid.  But  perhaps  the 
Good  Shepherd  was  leading  you  by  better  ways, 
hard  as  they  might  be.  What  did  you  doubt  then, 
Dan  ?" 

"Everything,  Mr.  Bertram,"  said  Dan,  "every- 
thing I  cannot  see  or  touch,  and  sometimes  that  too. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  251 

Sometimes  it  seems  as  if  we  were  nothing  but  a 
better-made  kind  of  beasts  ;  and  sometimes  it  seems 
as  if  I  was  nothing  but  a  dream  myself,  and  all 
that  happens  to  me." 

Then  came  out  the  history.  On  the  unreasoning, 
unquestioning  faith  of  childhood  had  broken  in  the 
rude  Why  and  How  of  unbelief,  not  mistily  rising 
from  his  own  heart,  but  pressed  rudely  on  him,  in 
strong,  tangible  forms,  by  his  mates  in  the  work- 
shop and  at  meal-times.  While  the  religious  world, 
high  on  dry  land,  was  busy  with  its  neat  little  de- 
bates, or  its  fiery  little  explosions,  about  "  baptisms 
and  laying  on  of  hands,"  and  the  forms,  and  atti- 
tudes, and  costumes  in  which  to  pray,  and  the 
precise  efficacy  of  sacraments,  and  the  precise  set- 
tlement of  prophetical  dates,  poor  Dan,  with  the 
working  men  around  him,  was  being  tossed  about 
by  the  rough  breakers,  and  the  rough  and  real  rocks 
of  utter  shipwreck,  battered  between  the  old  shoals 
and  whirlpools  of  materialism  and  Pyrrhonism. 
The  scepticism  of  his  circle  was  on  such  world-old 
questions  as  whether  there  ever  was  a  revelation ; 
whether  prayer  is  anything  but  a  dream  ;  whether 
the  soul  is  immortal  or,  indeed,  exists  apart  from  the 
brain  ;  whether  anything  exists  beyond  the  material 
and  visible ;  on  the  very  personality  and  existence 
of  God.  He,  with  so  many  like  him,  had  been  toss- 
ing on  the  great  sea  of  heathenism,  which  is  always 
dashing  round  the  farthest  outposts  of  what  can 
by  any  stretch  of  liberality  be  called  the  Church. 

He   had  been  asked  why  he  believed  the  Bible 
true,  and  he  had  little  reason  to  give  except  that  it 


35 2  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

had  made  him  happy  ;  and  then  the  sneering  doubt 
found  its  way  in  and  the  happiness  vanished.  He 
had  been  asked  why  he  prayed,  and  he  had  little 
reason  to  give  except  that  he  felt  God  was  hearing 
him.  And  then  even  on  his  knees  the  mocking 
words  followed  him,  and  he  could  not  resist  them, 
and  he  seemed  speaking  into  a  blank.  So  the 
temptation  went  on,  until  there  was  little  left  to 
him  except  the  growth  of  pure  feelings  and  moral 
principles  which  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  had  rip- 
ened in  his  heart,  and  the  anguish  that  the  Sun 
had  vanished. 

"  And  as  I  lay  on  my  bed,"  said  Dan,  "  it  felt 
like  falling  and  falling  through  a  great  gulf  without 
any  bottom ;  and  clutching,  and  grasping,  and  feel- 
ing all  round  me  nothing  but  emptiness;  and 
gazing,  and  gazing,  and  seeing  nothing  but  the 
dark." 

"  You  did  not  give  up  prayer  and  reading  the 
Bible  ?"  said  Maurice. 

"  No  ;  I  said  the  words-,  because  of  poor  mother 
asked  me  when  she  die  ;  and  I  read  the  chapter  be- 
cause of  poor  little  Fan.  She  thinks  so  much  of  me, 
Fan  do,  Mr.  Bertram,  and  she  told  me  how  you  and 
Miss  Grace  wished  her  and  me  to  read  the  Bible 
every  day,  and  it  would  have  puzzled  her  so  if  I 
had  told  her  I  didn't.  Besides,  now  and  then  they 
seemed  to  do  me  good,  somehow,  like  the  sound  of 
mother's  voice,  or  yours,  or  Fan's." 

"  Thank  God  for  that,"  said  Maurice,  quietly. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Bertram,  how  I  wish  I'd  died  when  I 
was  lying  lame  and  sick  in  aunt's  garret.  I  was  so 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  353 

happy  then.  Except  for  Fan,"  he  added,  "  except 
for  poor  Fan.  She's  got  no  one  but  me." 

"  Why  should  you  wish  you  had  died  then  ?" 
said  Maurice,  quietly.  "  If  what  you  believed  then 
is  not  true,  what  good  is  it  to  die  ?  and  if  it  is  true, 
how  well  it  is  worth  while  to  live  !" 

"Oh,  but,  Mr.  Bertram,  I  should  know ,"  said 
Dan,  "  I  should  know." 

"  You  shall  know,  Dan,"  said  Maurice,  gently. 
"If  any  man  will  do  my  will  he  shall  know  of  the 
doctrine  whether  it  is  of  God  or  whether  I  speak 
of  myself." 

And  then,  very  calmly,  leaving  aside  all  minor 
questions  of  evidence,  and  all  the  great  outer  sea  of 
scepticism,  Maurice  went  straight  to  the  heart  of 
Christianity.  He  spoke  of  the  Redeemer.  He  told 
Dan  something  of  what  the  heathen  world  and  the 
Jewish  nation  were  when  that  divine  life  was  lived ; 
of  the  corruption  of  the  Gentile,  the  narrow  for- 
malism and  narrowing  pride  of  the  Jew.  He  made 
him  see  how  that  pure  and  perfect  character  rose 
from  amidst  all  this  hollowness  and  corruption,  not 
detached  from  them  as  an  image  fallen  from  heaven, 
but  springing  from  the  same  root,  growing  amidst 
it,  sharing  every  influence  of  the  age ;  a  Jew  whose 
patriotism  no  fanatical  Jew  dared  to  question,  yet 
the  friend  of  the  Samaritan  and  the  Canaanite ;  re- 
ceiving sinners  and  eating  with  them,  yet  with  a 
Ht.ainless  purity  no  suborned  false  witness  dared  to 
assail.  He  showed  the  poor  perplexed  lad  how  the 
invention  of  such  a  life  at  such  a  time  would  have 
been  scarcely  less  a  miracle  than  the  living  it.  He 
30* 


354  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

pointed  out  to  him  detail  after  detail  of  those  four 
marvelous  pictures  through  which  we  gain  a  more 
intimate  acquaintance  with  that  sacred  life  through 
the  mists  of  eighteen  centuries  than  any  biography 
gives  us  of  the  life  of  any  good  man  who  died  in 
our  times.  The  words  He  spoke,  the  looks  with 
which  He  spoke  them ;  the  turning  to  the  outcast 
woman  while  He  pleaded  for  her  with  the  Pharisee ; 
the  touching  the  leper  who  might  approach  no  one, 
while  the  nobleman's  son  was  healed  across  the  Gali- 
lean hills  by  a  word ;  the  holy  anger  with  which 
He  looked  at  the  cruel  formalists  who  grudged 
the  healing  of  the  sufferer  on  the  Sabbath — yet 
anger  which  in  all  its  holy  fire  was  akin  not  to  ven- 
geance but  to  sorrow,  "  being  grieved  at  the  hard- 
ness of  their  hearts ;"  the  tenderness  and  truth 
which  made  the  severity  against  all  that  was 
against  love  and  truth  so  piercing.  Maurice  spoke 
of  all  this  until  his  own  heart  glowed  with  the  ut- 
terance, and  the  wandering,  aimless,  hopeless  look 
in  poor  Dan's  face  was  slowly  changed  into  the 
penetrating  gaze  of  eager  interest.  And  then  at 
last  he  spoke  of  that  last  night  and  day ;  the  day 
which  closed  at  the  ninth  hour,  and  closed  over  the 
dead  Redeemer,  and  the  redeemed  world.  He 
showed  Dan  how  terribly  spontaneous  and  real 
were  all  the  actions  of  all  the  human  actors  and 
sufferers  in  that  last  crisis,  how  Judas  "  watched  to 
betray  him ;"  how  Pilate  all  but  took  courage  to 
rescue  him ;  how  Peter  was  warned  step  by  step  of 
his  danger,  as  from  warming  himself  at  the  fire 
among  his  master's  enemies,  he  came  to  denying 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  *IN.  3  5  5 

him  with  a  vehemence  which  reached  the  Sufferer's 
heart  through  all  the  blindfolding  and  buffeting; 
and  how  all  the  tide  of  love  came  rushing  back  on 
his  heart  with  that  "'look."  And  yet  he  made  him 
see  behind  these  human  agents  dreadful  glimpses  of 
the  invisible  tempter  who  was  "  watching  to  betray" 
Judas,  who  was  seducing  Pilate,  who  was  sifting 
Peter.  He  made  him  see  how  every  step  of  that 
long  "  way  of  sorrow"  by  which  the  victim  was 
dragged  bound  and  bleeding  to  the  cross,  was  yet  a 
voluntary  step  of  the  willing  sacrifice,  whose  eyes, 
still  haggard  with  the  agony  of  Gethsemane,  could 
make  the  band  of  officers  fall  to  the  ground ;  whose 
lightest  tone  as  he  stood  a  bound  captive  could  have 
brought  down  legions  of  angels ;  whose  interces- 
sion, as  they  nailed  his  hands  to  the  cross,  was  the 
prayer  of  the  High  Priests,  saving  to  the  utter- 
most ;  whose  promise  on  lips  parched  with  the 
thirst  of  death  was  paradise. 

Gradually,  as  Maurice  spoke,  the  look  in  Dan's 
face  changed  still  further,  from  perplexity  to  steady 
attention,  from  attention  to  the  faint  dawning  of 
hope,  from  hope  to  adoration,  until,  as  Maurice, 
after  a  short  silence,  knelt  beside  the  bed  and  offered 
a  few  words  of  prayer,  one  long  sob  of  relief 
burst  from  Dan's  heart,  like  the  sob  of  returning 
life  in  a  drowning  man,  and  when  Maurice  rose 
he  clasped  his  hand  for  some  moments  with  a 
speechless  look  of  gratitude,  until  at  length  he  mur- 
mured : 

"  It  is  gone  ! — the  darkness  is  gone.  Jesus  Christ 
is  true — Jesus  Christ  is  living.  The  darkness  is 


356  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

gone,  Mr.  Bertram — all  gone  ;  it  is  all  right,  for  I 
can  see  Him." 

That  was  the  recovery  which  filled  Maurice  with 
such  unutterable  thankfulness,deeper  even  than  Win- 
nie's for  his  own  preservation  from  infection,  or  little 
Fan's  for  Dan's  recovery  from  the  borders  of  death. 

Many  conversations  followed,  as  Dan  could  bear 
them.  All  lesser  doubts  melted  away  on  the  un- 
sealing of  that  living  fountain  of  love  and  truth,  as 
a  spring  sweeps  away  its  own  icicles.  The  moral 
and  spiritual  world  grew  real  at  once,  and  took  form 
and  substance  around  that  perfection  of  moral  and 
spiritual  beauty  manifested  in  God  manifest  in  the 
flesh.  Eternal  life  was  the  necessary  atmosphere 
around  the  Living  Lord ;  immortality  was  His  natu- 
ral clothing,  and  ours  through  Him ;  that  must,  in- 
deed, be  a  Divine  revelation  which  had  revealed 
Him.  His  miracles,  Dan  thought,  must  have  been 
as  natural  to  Him  as  speech  and  movement  to  us. 
Life  and  healing  must  have  flowed  from  his  touch  ; 
the  waves  and  winds  must  have  known  His'  voice  of 
command,  and  recognised  His  step,  just  as  the  sellers 
of  doves  did  in  the  temple.  His  wondrous  works 
were  so  like  Him,  Dan  thought — like  His  gracious 
words  of  authority,  like  His  tones  of  command  and 
pity,  like  Himself.  And  as  to  that  mighty  and  mer- 
ciful Saviour  pitying  and  forgiving  him,  himself, 
poor,  weak,  doubting,  perplexed,  bad  as  he  felt  him- 
self to  have  been,  Dan  had  no  more  doubt  of  it 
than  if  he  had  heard  him  say,  "  Thy  sins  be  forgiven 
thee."  Had  he  not  stretched  out  His  hand  to  Peter, 
and  sent  a  message  to  him  by  name,  by  an  angel, 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  357 

that  he  might  not  think  for  an  hour  longer  than 
could  be  helped,  he  was  forgotten  or  unforgiven — 
even  after  he  had  denied  with  oaths  ?  To  believe 
that  "  He  is  "  and  not  to  believe  that  He  is  love ;  to 
believe  that  He  has  died  to  redeem  and  not  to  be- 
lieve that  He  will  forgive  those  who  ask  Him ;  to 
believe  and  adore  Him  and  think  that  He  will  not 
love  and  pity  and  help  us ;  to  believe  that  the  Sa- 
viour lives  and  is  not  ready  to  save — were  perplex- 
ities that  did  not  enter  Dan's  mind.  After  the  fur- 
nace he  had  passed  through,  these  fiery  darts  fell 
feebly  around  him,  like  spent  sparks.  In  finding 
the  Christ  he  found  all — immortality,  life,  forgive- 
ness, strength,  rest. 


The  next  day  was  Sunday.  A  very  joyous  Sun- 
day morning  it  was  to  Dan,  as  he  sat  propped  up  at 
the  window  in  the  little  back-room  at  Mrs.  Ander- 
son's, too  weak  yet  to  walk,  and  listened  to  the 
plashing  of  the  water  from  the  pipe  into  the  back 
court,  and  to  the  twittering  of  the  sparrows  on  a 
poor  maimed  tree  in  the  next  back  court,  and  won- 
dered if  they  were  like  the  sound  of  the  streams 
and  the  twittering  of  the  sparrows  in  Judea  and 
Galilee.  And  a  very  joyous  Sunday  morning  also 
to  Fan  in  her  garret,  dressing  quickly  to  light  the 
kitchen  fire,  but  not  too  quickly  to  have  time  to 
kneel  and  look  up  through  the  garret  window  to  the 
sky,  and  feel  how  sweet  it  was  to  say,  "  Our  Father 
who  art  in  heaven,  thy  will  be  done"  now  that  Dan 
was  getting  well  again ;  and  to  Winnie  rejoicing  in 


358  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

the  thought  of  the  morrow  which  was  to  bring 
Maurice;  and  to  Maurice,  giving  thanks  for  Dan, 
and  feeling  what  a  glorious  thing  it  was  to  have  to 
speak  of  that  living  Word,  that  dying  Lord,  to  hun- 
dreds of  toiling  and  tried  human  beings  that  very 
day ;  and  to  Grace  rejoicing  in  the  happiness  of 
Fan,  and  Dan,  and  Winnie,  and  Maurice,  and  in  her 
own  private  share  of  all  this  joy  besides. 

Winnie  was,  moreover,  in  a  great  state  of  exulta- 
tion not  only  on  account  of  her  hopes  for  the  mor- 
row,  but  in  virtue  of  a  plan  she  had  for  that  day. 
This  plan  was  no  other  than  that  Mrs.  O'Brien 
should  go  with  her  that  very  Sunday  evening  to 
hear  Maurice  in  his  own  church. 

Most  diplomatically  she  arranged  in  her  OWD 
mind  how  she  would  introduce  the  subject,  how  she 
would  interest  her  aunt  in  it,  and  how  unanswera- 
bly she  would  meet  the  objections  of  her  uncle. 
But,  as  usual  when  the  umbrella  is  provided,  the 
rain  never  came.  All  these  imaginary  objections 
were  never  made,  and  these  irresistible  arguments 
were  never  needed.  Mrs.  O'Brien  caught  quite 
eagerly  at  Winnie's  proposition,  and  Mr.  O'Brien, 
having  concluded  that  a  fly  would  be  a  more  appro- 
priate mode  of  conveyance  to  such  a  neighborhood 
than  the  carriage,  had  not  a  difficulty  to  throw  in 
the  way. 

Winnie  little  knew  the  thoughts  that  were  tumul- 
tuously  surging  through  Mrs.  O'Brien's  heart  as 
they  drove  through  the  streets.  Her  own  heart 
was  entirely  full  of  one  thought; — the  joy  of  seeing 
and  hearing  Maurice. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  359 

The  streets  through  which  they  drove  had  a  Sab- 
bath stillness,  but  little  of  a  Sunday  joyousness 
about  them.  The  great  current  of  business  was  for 
the  day  arrested.  They  passed  rapidly  without  ob- 
struction through  the  silent  thoroughfares,  where 
on  any  other  day  they  would  have  had  to  creep 
slowly  step  by  step  amidst  a  deafening  din  of  drays, 
gigantic  wagons,  and  heavily-laden  omnibuses.  The 
side  pavements  were  deserted  by  the  great  stream 
of  commercial  activity  with  which  they  usually 
overflowed,  and  instead  were  besprinkled  with  a  few 
drops  of  the  human  life  still  left  in  the  city,  bub- 
bling up  from  side  streets  and  blind  alleys  and  cel- 
lars. Poor  pallid  specimens  of  human  life  they 
were,  for  the  most  part,  in  Winnie's  eyes,  neutral- 
tinted  with  the  coloring  of  pawnshops,  poor  people 
who  had  not  strength  or  means  to  fly  for  the  day's 
holiday  to  the  suburbs ;  pale  mothers,  and  ragged 
elder  sisters  bringing  out  the  babies  for  a  breath  of 
fresh  air  in  the  wide  empty  streets ;  men  loitering 
about  in  their  working  clothes  from  one  gin  palace 
to  another.  And  here  and  there  a  company  of 
orderly  people  united  in  a  common  stream  by  the 
bond  of  some  common  place  of  worship  to  which 
they  were  hastening.  Winnie  looked  with  inquiring 
interest  on  the  pallid  wanderers,  and  on  the  church- 
goers. She  wondered  if  among  the  former  there 
might  not  be  some  Dan  and  Fan ;  and  to  the  latter 
she  wished  to  be  able  to  say,  "  We  are  not  loiterers ; 
we  are  going  to  church  to  hear  Maurice,  my  own 
brother  Maurice !" 

Mrs.  O'Brien  saw  and  heard  little.     The  outside 


360  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

of  the  ragged,  dejected-looking  creatures  was  too 
familiar  to  her ;  and  their  hearts  she  began  almost 
to  despair  of  reaching,  at  least  of  reaching  with 
anything  that  could  raise  and  help.  Yet  through 
all  her  regrets  and  recollections  some  words  Maurice 
had  spoken  at  Combe  floated  like  the  fragment  of  a 
melody,  and  she  had  a  kind  of  vague  hope  that  that 
evening  she  might  hear  the  rest.  She  remembered 
his  once  saying  to  her  and  Lady  Katharine,  in  the 
drawing-room  at  the  Abbey,  "  There  is,  I  believe, 
but  one  Mediator  between  man  and  man,  as  well  as 
between  God  and  man." 

A  bare  prosaic  church  Winifred  thought  St.  Al- 
phege,  in  the  few  moments  she  had  to  observe  any- 
thing before  the  service  began.  A  church  built 
after  the  great  fire  had  burned  the  living  old  Gothic 
churches  out  of  the  city,  and  a  cold  classicism  had 
frozen  the  living  spring  of  Gothic  architecture  in 
the  imagination  of  artists  and  people.  The  last 
summer  evening  sunbeams  slanted  in  long  dusty 
lines  on  the  large  old  pulpit  and  on  the  side  of  the 
reading-desk,  which  was  concealed  from  her  by  a 
pillar,  until  Maurice's  voice  broke  on  the  little  sis- 
ter's ear,  and  then,  for  a  few  minutes,  not  only  gal- 
leries, high  pews,  and  dusty  sunbeams,  but  the 
meaning  of  the  sacred  words  themselves,  were  en- 
tirely lost  to  her  in  the  great  joy  of  hearing  his 
voice  once  more,  deep  and  clear  and  natural,  filling 
the  church  as  easily  as  if  he  were  only  speaking 
"  parables  "  to  her  at  home.  Only  for  a  few  min- 
utes. Very  soon  Winnie  felt  that  Maurice  was 
praying,  and  her  heart  went  penitently  up  in  the 


THE  WOULD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  36i 

old  petition  so  continually  needed,  "  We  have  gone 
astray  like  lost  sheep,  we  have  done  those  things 
which  we  ought  not  to  have  done,  and  left  undone 
those  things  which  we  ou*ght  to  have  done,  and 
there  is  no  health  in  us." 

Then  came  the  sermon.  And  for  the  first  time 
Winnie  saw  her  brother's  face  again.  By  this  time 
the  pulpit  lamps  were  lighted,  and  Winnie's  heart 
almost  stopped  beating  as  she  saw  how  very  pale 
and  worn  he  looked,  so  that  she  carried  away  only 
two  definite  thoughts  from  the  sermon;  the  first 
that  Maurice  was  very  ill ;  and  the  second  that  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ,  of  whom  he  was  speaking,  was 
infinitely  kind  and  good,  and  very  near.  Between 
which  thoughts  she  silently  cried  all  the  time,  let- 
ting the  tears  fall  as  they  trickled  down  for  fear  her 
aunt  should  see  her  and  try  to  comfort  her. 

But  Mrs.  O'Brien  drank  every  word  of  that  ser- 
mon into  her  inmost  heart.  And  to  her  the  sermon 
seemed  to  be  this.  For  to  every  true  hearer's  heart 
a  true  sermon  is  preached  over  again,  and  in  none 
quite  in  the  same  way.  The  thought  glanced  at  in 
one  is  brought  out  in  strong  relief  to  another  as  if 
it  were  the  only  one,  because  it  is  the  message 
needed.  To  the  minds  of  false  hearers  on  the  lofty 
platform  of  self-complacent  criticism  the  true  ser- 
mon is  probably  not  preached  at  all,  but  quite  an- 
other, composed  of  such  echoes  of  the  ends  and 
beginnings  of  sentences  as  reach  their  heights, 
pieced  out  with  comments  of  their  own. 

But  Mrs.  O'Brien  was  on  no  critical  judgment- 
seat.  She  sat  in  the  low  place  of  the  little  chil- 
31 


362  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

dren,  and  to  her  Maurice's  sermon  seemed  to  be 
this: 

"'  While  He  yet  talked  to  the  people,  behold, 
His  mother  and  His  brethren  stood  without,  desir- 
ing to  speak  with  Him. 

"  t  Then  one  said  unto  Him,  Behold,  thy  mother 
and  thy  brethren  stand  without,  desiring  to  speak 
with  thee. 

"  '  But  He  answered  and  said  unto  him  that  told 
Him,  Who  is  my  mother  ?  and  who  are  my  brethren  ? 

"  *  And  He  stretched  forth  His  hand  toward  His 
disciples,  and  said,  Behold  my  mother  and  my 
brethren ! 

"  '  For  whosoever  shall  do  the  will  of  my  Father 
which  is  in  heaven,  the  same  is  my  brother,  and 
sister,  and  mother.' 

"Did  these  words  never  strike  any  of  you  as 
wanting  in  that  human  tenderness,  which  we  know 
characterized  our  Lord  ?  If  it  has  been  so  with 
any  of  you,  do  not  try  to  explain  this  feeling  away, 
or  to  gloss  it  over  with  some  faint  misty  comprom- 
ise between  the  text  in  the  Bible  and  text  of  the 
old  characters  of  pure  human  affection,  equally 
divine,  although  broken  and  defaced,  written  in 
your  hearts.  Bring  both  to  the  light ;  examine 
every  letter.  They  never  disagree,  when  you  read 
the  whole  of  both.  They  were  written  by  the 
same  hand.  But  never  try  to  make  them  agree  by 
leaving  out  part  of  either,  still  less  by  altering  one 
iota  of  either.  That  is  the  way  half  the  heresies 
have  arisen,  and  all  of  them  have  been  nourished. 
Let  us  bring  out,  as  far  as  we  can,  the  apparent 
contradiction,  and  examine  it. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  363 

"  For  thirty  years  the  perfect  manhood  of  our 
Lord  has  been  shining  as  the  light  of  one  humble 
home  at  Nazareth,  all  that  perfection  of  truth  and 
love,  trust  and  trustworthiness,  had  been  known  to 
Mary,  as  the  Son  'subject'  to  her;  and  now  He 
sat  surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  strangers,  carping 
scribes  from  Jerusalem,  ignorant  wondering  pea- 
sants, and  fishermen  from  the  towns  around  the 
lake  of  Galilee,  and  she  stood  without,  outside  the 
inner  circle,  '  desiring  to  speak  with  Him,'  need- 
ing some  stranger's  voice  to  '  entreat'  that  she 
might  speak  to  Him,  and  for  answer  receiving 
nothing  but  the  declaration — not  addressed  to  the 
mother,  but  to  the  disciples — placing  her,  it  might 
seem,  on  a  level  with  those  who  had  only  begun  to 
know  Him  yesterday!  Was.  there  nothing  in  this 
to  pierce  through  her  heart,  faithful  and  gentle  as 
it  was  ? 

"  But  was  there  nothing  in  the  history  of  those 
thirty  years  to  explain  this  to  her  who  '  kept'  so 
fondly  all  things  concerning  Him,  and  pondered 
them  in  the  silence  of  her  lowly  heart  ?  Was  there 
no  bursting  on  her  memory  of  the  face  of  One  little 
more  than  a  child,  yet  deep  with  a  superhuman 
depth,  in  the  midst  of  the  doctors  in  the  Temple  ? 
No  echo  of  a  '  Wist  ye  not  ?'  tender  yet  most  sol- 
emn ?  No  memory  of  a  wedding-feast,  where  her 
prayer  had  indeed  been  granted,  but  as  the  prayer 
of  a  child,  not  the  command  of  a  mother  ?  Was 
there  nothing  in  her  own  purpose  that  ought  to 
explain  this  answer  to  her?  St.  Mark,  so  often 
supplying  some  characteristic  detail,  can  explain 


364  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

this  to  us.  Our  Lord  had  just  solemnly  ordained 
the  twelve,  laying  the  foundation  of  the  Church ; 
and  the  multitudes  had  gathered  together  around 
Him,  the  first  stones  of  the  building  which  was  to 
be  the  new  temple  of  God ;  and  when  His  friends 
(or  kinsmen)  heard  of  it,  they  went  out  to  lay  hold 
on  Him,  for  they  said,  '  He  is  beside  himself.'  It 
'  was  to  this  purpose  Mary  for  a  moment  seemed  to 
be  lending  herself,  the  love  of  the  mother  for  a  brief 
space  contending  with  the  love  of  the  redeemed 
creature.  Three  times  only  do  we  hear  of  her  heart 
rising  in  momentary  misunderstanding  and  opposi- 
tion to  His.  Once  in  Jerusalem,  after  the  three 
days  seeking  Him  sorrowing,  '  Son,  why  hast  thou 
thus  dealt  with  us  ?'  Once  at  Cana,  in  a  subtler 
form,  pressing  Him  on  with  a  fond  eagerness  to 
His  glory  before  the  time  ;  and  now  again  the  poor 
fond  heart  trembles  and  struggles  as  the  home  of 
Nazareth  crumbles  away,  that  He  who  had  been  its 
Support  and  Joy  may  become  the  foundation  of  the 
Church  of  God.  And  after  that  never  again  ! 

"  When  He  went  up  sore  amazed  and  very  heavy 
to  Jerusalem  to  die,  when  He  came  unto  the  gar- 
den where  He  knew  the  traitor  would  find  Him,  no 
fond  mother's  voice  sought  with  agonized  plead- 
ings to  keep  Him  back.  And  yet  she  was  not  far 
off.  At  the  Cross  she  stood  by  Him,  speechless 
and  submissive,  while  the  sword  pierced  her  heart. 
At  the  Cross  once  more  His  eyes  noted  her ;  amidst 
the  agony  of  death,  amidst  the  joy  of  the  world's 
redemption,  tender  and  pitiful  came  back  the  voice 
she  had  known  at  Nazareth,  '  Woman,  behold  thy 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN,  365 

son  !  behold  thy  mother  !'  And  now,  as  she,  lowly 
and  blessed,  stands  among  the  innermost  circle  of 
the  disciples,  do  not  the  words  which  once  may 
have  pierced  as  a  reproof,  fall  for  evermore  a  bene- 
diction, as  looking  round  on  His  disciples,  He  says, 
'  Behold  my  mother  and  my  brethren  ?' 

"  But  the  lesson  Mary  learned  then  can  scarcely 
be  learned  without  anguish.  What  was  this  les- 
son ?  God  first.  Not  God  only,  as  some  mystical 
writers  say,  not  the  Creator  to  the  exclusion  of  the 
creature.  But  God  first.  Mary  was  our  Lord's 
one  human  relationship.  He  had  no  other.  All 
earthly  tenderness  was  for  Him  concentrated  in  the 
love  of  a  son  for  the  mother.  And  that  this  love 
was  real,  she  can  testify,  in  whose  house  He  lived 
subject  for  thirty  years,  who  followed  Him  to  the 
Cross.  His  own  death  agony  made  no  break  in 
His  tender  care  for  her.  But  did  she  seek  to  come 
for  an  instant  between  Him  and  God  ?  *  Wist  ye 
not  that  I  must  be  about  my  Father's  business  ?' 
'  What  have  I  to  do  with  thee  ?'  Turning  from  her 
to  the  disciples,  '  Behold  my  mother  and  my  breth- 
ren.' Take  the  words  in  their  full  strength.  If 
you  attempt  to  soften  away  the  lofty  determination 
of  the  choice  between  the  earthly  and  the  heavenly, 
between  the  mother  and  God,  you  lower  at  the 
same  time  the  tenderness  of  the  human  love  into 
mere  softness. 

"  Consecration,  Christians,  before  service.  Obe- 
dience to  God,  if  necessary,  against  obedience  to 
man. 

"  But  to  this  incident,  as  in  most  others  in  our 
3]* 


3  66  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

Lord's  life  there  are  two  aspects.  *  Perfect  man 
and  perfect  God.'  He  manifests  in  all  He  is,  and 
says,  and  does,  not  by  effort,  not  as  one  acting  to  be 
an  example,  but  naturally,  necessarily,  essentially, 
what  man  should  be,  shall  be. 

"  And  also  He  manifests,  not  by  an  effort  as  an 
ambassador  representing  a  Sovereign,  but  naturally, 
necessarily,  essentially,  what  God  is. 

"  If  to  Mary  those  words  were  the  closing  of 
earthly  love  and  its  fond  ties,  to  us  they  are  the 
unclosing  of  the  heavenly  life  and  its  relationships, 
or  rather  the  revealing  of  the  Church  which  is  the 
heavenly  family.  They  reveal  to  us  the  individual- 
ity of  the  love  of  Christ.  They  reveal  Him  to  us 
as  the  Divine  Head  of  redeemed  man,  the  second 
man  who  is  the  Lord  from  heaven.  They  give  us 
the  key  at  once  to  the  heart  of  Christ  and  to  the 
hearts  of  men.  They  unite  us  to  our  fellow  men 
in  uniting  us  to  Him. 

"  St.  Mark  and  St.  Matthew  more  especially  show 
us  this  individuality  of  the  love  of  Christ  to  each 
disciple.  They  add  the  words,  'For  whosoever 
shall  do  the  will  of  God,  the  same  is  my  mother, 
and  sister,  and  brother.'  Not  mother  and  brethren 
only,  but  mother,  sister,  and  brother.  No  mere  plural 
brethren,  no  vague  collective,  substantive  '  brother- 
hood,' but  mother,  and  sister,  and  brother.  Not 
'  /'  and  *  you '  merely,  still  less  I  and  they,  but  I 
and  thou,  and  thou,  and  thou.  'My  mother,  my 
sister,  my  brother ;'  so  close,  so  personal,  so  tender 
is  the  relationship  between  our  Lord  and  the  dis- 
ciples. Between  our  Lord  and  whom?  Looking 


THE    WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  367 

round  about  on  those  that  sat  about  Him,  He  loved 
the  multitude  around  Him,  He  had  taken  on  Him 
the  nature  common  to  all.  The  look  of  pitying, 
welcoming  love  was  on  all.  But  the  words  must 
have  pierced  into  some  hearts  there  as  a  sword, 
before  they  flowed  into  the  wound  as  the  balm. 
*  Whosever  shall  do  the  will  of  God.  Whosoever 
shall  hear  the  word  of  God  and  do  it.'  The  truth 
must  divide  before  it  can  unite.  It  must  wound 
before  it  can  heal.  Many  thronged  Him.  But  one 
touched  Him.  He  felt  the  touch.  She  felt  the  cure. 
So  must  it  be  with  you.  Any  gospel  which  speaks 
of  Christ  as  the  Physician  of  all  without  pointing 
out  the  necessity  of  each  coming  to  Him  for  the 
cure,  may  flow  around  the  heart  like  music.  It 
will  never  penetrate  into  the  heart,  like  balm,  and, 
heal  its  wounds.  We  have  need  of  St.  Paul's  and 
Luther's  my  as  well  as  of  St.  John's  'the  whole 
world.'  '  My  mother,  my  sister,  my  brother,'  fol- 
ows  on  l  my  Saviour,  my  Lord,  and  my  God.'  Say 
so  to  Him,  beloved,  look  up  to  Him,  meet  His  look 
as  He  looks  round  about  on  you  all,  and  say,  '  My 
Lord  !'  Since  that  day  in  the  house  at  Capernaum, 
He, has  been  in  agony  in  Gethsemane,  He  has  been 
crucified  on  Calvary,  He  has  been  obedient  to  the 
death  of  the  Cross  for  us,  He  has  finished  the  work 
the  Father  gave  Him  to  do  for  us,  He  has  drunk  to 
the  dregs  the  cup  the  Father  gave  Him  to  drink  for 
us,  He  has  loved  us  unto  death.  The  eyes  which 
look  round  about  on  us  now  have  looked  up  from 
the  Cross  as  He  said,  *  Father,  forgive  them ;'  have 
looked  down  from  the  Cross  as  He  said,  '  To-day 


3 68  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

thou  shalt  be  with  me  in  Paradise ;'  have  been 
sealed  in  death  ;  have  welcomed  thousands  of  thou- 
sands of  His  redeemed  to  the  Father's  house.  Look 
up,  acknowledge  it,  and  thank  Him.  Or,  if  you 
can  not  look  up,  fall  at  His  feet  and  hide  your  face 
there,  and  say,  *  My  Lord  and  my  God,'  and  He 
will  say  to  you,  '  Whosoever  shall  do  the  will  of 
God,  the  same  is  my  sister,  my  mother,  my  brother. 
This  is  the  will  of  God  that  ye  believe  on  Him 
whom  He  hath  sent.' 

"  Yes,  '  my '  as  strictly,  truly,  really,  personally, 
'  my,'  and  as  if,  with  Mary,  you  had  dwelt  with 
him  thirty  years  at  Nazareth. 

"  Take  this  '  my '  to  your  heart,  ask  the  Spirit  of 
God  to  engrave  it  there.  It  will  make  the  poorest 
heart  rich,  and  will  supply  every  earthly  relation- 
ship withheld  from  you.  It  will  compensate  for 
every  earthly  relationship  withdrawn  from  you. 

"In  two  ways.  Firstly  and  primarily,  by  the 
personal  love  of  Christ  to  you,  felt  delighted  in, 
returned,  actually,  truly,  simply,  without  exaggera- 
tion the  deepest  joy,  and  the  deepest  feeling  the 
heart  of  man  or  woman  can  know.  It  will  abso- 
lutely satisfy  your  heart.  It  would  satisfy  your 
heart  if  it  were  his  will  you  should  spend  the  rest 
of  your  life  alone  in  a  dungeon. 

"  But  secondly  and  secondarily,  since  you  are  not 
alone  in  a  dungeon,  but  in  families,  in  parishes,  in 
congregations,  in  a  country,  it  will  fill  your  hearts 
by  rebinding  the  broken  links  of  human  love  which 
were  snapped  when  Adam  fell,  and  excused  his  dis- 
trust of  God  by  a  selfish  accusation  of  her  God  had 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  369 

given  to  be  with  him.  In  Christ,  the  second  Adam, 
we  have  a  new  relationship  to  all  human  beings. 
In  Christ,  the  Head  of  the  Church,  we  have  a  new 
and  immortal  relationship  to  all  Christians.  'In 
that  ye  did  it  to  the  least  of  these  my  brethren,  ye 
did  it  unto  me.'  Link  these  words  to  the  other ; 
let  the  life  of  faith  overflow  into  the  life  of  service, 
and  never  more  shall  you  complain  of  isolation  or 
loneliness,  of  none  to  love  you,  or  of  none  for  you  to 
serve.  See  in  every  suffering,  tried,  sinful  man  and 
woman  around  you,  those  whom  your  Lord  pitied, 
loved,  died  for ;  those  who  may  be  led  from  what- 
ever depth,  who  may  be  led  by  your  voice  and  your 
hand,  to  be  blessed  as  you  are  in  Him.  Go  forth 
every  morning  not  from  his  presence,  but  in  His 
presence,  strong  in  the  faith  of  His  personal  love  to 
you,  and  you  shall  find  the  hardest  yoke  easy,  and 
the  heaviest  burden  light ;  for  the  burdens  of  cir- 
cumstance and  earthly  trial  are  light  indeed  to  those 
whose  hearts  are  set  free  from  the  burden  of  guilt, 
from  the  weight  of  an  aimless  life,  from  the  weight 
of  an  empty  heart,  crushed  by  its  own  vacuum. 

"  And  let  us  notice  that  in  all  this  specifying  of 
the  relationships  which  the  Lord  sustains  to  the 
individual  disciple,  there  is  one  omission.  Unno- 
ticed and  unknown  Christian,  serving  perhaps  in 
some  strange  household  with  your  kindred  far 
away  !  He  says  to  you,  '  My  sister  !' ,  Poor  broken- 
hearted outcast,  cast  out  by  yourself  from  home, 
not  having  heard  the  tones  of  pure  affection  for 
years — He  is  ready  to  call  you  '  my  sister  !'  Aged 
and  lonely,  from  whom  all  who  knew  you  in  child- 


370  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

hood  and  youth  have  died  away,  whom  no  one  lives 
to  call  by  the  tender  old  home  name — He  calls  you 
4  my  sister.'  Bereaved  and  childless,  from  whom 
the  tender  clinging  of  infant  arms  has  been  with- 
drawn— He  promises  to  supply  that  void  to  you. 
He  draws  you  tenderly  to  himself,  '  My  sister,  my 
mother.'9  He  sends  you  forth  to  the  motherless — to 
the  helpless,  childless  hands  that  have  no  mother's 
bosom  round  which  to  cling. 

"  But  one  name  he  calls  you  not.  So  carefully, 
so  jealously  does  the  Bible  keep  guard  over  the 
barrier  which  divides  tenderness  from  sentiment- 
alism,  mystery  from  mysticism. 

"  He  calls  no  one  of  you  '  My  bride.' 

"  The  bride  of  Christ  is  One. 

"  Not  to  the  Church  does  our  Lord  say  '  My 
mother,  my  sister.' 

"Not  to  the  individual  Christian  does  he  say, 
'My  spouse.' 

"  The  day  is  coming  when  the  whole  multitude 
of  the  redeemed,  cleansed  in  one  fountain,  tried  in 
many  fires,  shall  rise  as  one  spotless,  consecrated 
company,  to  share  forever  the  keeping  of  the  new 
Paradise,  the  Bride  of  the  Lamb,  the  Eve  of  the 
second  Adam.  That  company  is  being  gathered, 
tried,  purified  now. 

"  But  to  the  inmost  heart  of  each  one  in  it 
that  Divine  and  human  voice  is  ever  saying,  *  My 
mother,  my  sister,  my  brother.'  '  In  that  ye  did  it 
to  the  least  of  these  my  brethren,  ye  have  done  it 
unto  me.' " 

Maurice's  calm,  deep  voice  ceased. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  371 

But  the  voice  that  had  been  speaking  in  Mrs. 
O'Brien's  heart  ceased  not.  She  had  found  the 
lacking  link  with  God  and  with  man.  She  had 
found  the  living  Fountain  from  which  her  own 
heart  and  all  beside  can  be  watered.  "Winnie  felt  a 
new  indescribable  tenderness  in  her  manner  that 
evening  as  she  came  to  see  her  after  she  was  in  bed, 
and  comfort  her  about  Maurice's  pale  face. 

"  We  will  ask  God  to  take  care  of  Maurice,"  she 
said,  softly.  No  more,  yet  in  such  a  tone,  so  calm 
and  reverent,  they  seemed  like  new  words  to 
Winnie. 

To  Mrs.  O'Brien  it  was  as  if  an  adamant  wall  had 
melted  away  between  her  and  God,  and  between 
her  and  every  heart  around  her.  The  crystal  bar- 
rier which  had  isolated  her,  had  indeed  been  not 
rock  but  ice ;  no  new  truth  was  this  which  had  set 
Mrs.  O'Brien's  heart  free.  But  there  is  such  a 
thing  in  this  nineteenth  century  as  well  as  in  the 
first,  as  the  Holy  Spirit  opening  the  heart  to  Di- 
vine truth,  and  making  the  truth  the  living  seed  of 
the  new  creation. 

There  is  such  a  thing  in  these  days  as  coming  to 
Christ,  as  personally  as  those  did  who  touched  the 
hem  of  his  garment,  or  bathed  his  feet  with  tears  ; 
not  thinking  about  him  merely,  but  coming  to  him  • 
not  coming  to  him  for  forgiveness  and  deliverance 
from  death  only,  but  for  strength  to  suffer,  to  labor, 
to  conquer,  to  serve,  coming  to  him  and  having 
life. 

Just  when  Dan  was  recovering,  one  of  those  low 


372  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

fevers  which  are  hovering  perpetually  like  birds  of 
prey  over  the  low  neighborhoods  of  large  cities, 
made  a  swoop  on  Maurice's  parish  and  carried  off 
some  of  the  many  in  such  districts  always  standing 
on  that  lowest  level  of  life,  which  is  on  the  verge  of 
death.  Maurice  was  constantly  occupied  among 
the  sick  and  dying,  and  his  health,  already  tried  by 
the  watching  and  anxiety,  was  not  proof  against 
the  sorrowful  scenes  he  had  to  witness  and  the  in- 
fected atmosphere  he  had  to  breathe. 

One  morning  Mrs.  O'Brien  was  made  anxious  by 
a  brief  note,  began  in  his  handwriting,  speaking  of 
a,  slight  feverish  cold,  but  supplemented  with  some 
words  in  a  round  laborious  hand,  commencing,  Hon- 
ored Madam,  and  informing  Mrs.  O'Brien  that 
master  was  very  low,  and  had  been  a  little  "  out " 
in  the  night ;  but  that  the  doctor  thought  he  would 
get  him  through,  and  the  "other  doctor"  said  he 
would  know  better  in  the  evening ;  and  that  she, 
the  writer,  would  have  sent  to  Mrs.  O'Brien  before, 
but  they  had  not  been  able  to  leave  master  alone, 
and  that  he  must  be  kept  quiet ;  and  the  doctor  did 
not  think  the  fever  was  catching,  but  he  could  not 
be  sure  ;  and  they  were  using  chloride  of  lime  and 
taking  every  care,  and  the  doctor  was  going  to  send 
another  nurse. 

All  which,  with  an  entire  absence  of  dates  and 
medical  definitions,  left  nothing  clear  on  Mrs. 
O'Brien's  mind  but  that  she  must  go  instantly 
and  see  what  was  the  matter,  and  what  could  be 
done. 

She  was  perplexed  what  to  do  about  Winnie, 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  373 

but  as  she  looked  up  at  her  from  the  open  letter, 
something  in  the  child's  face  made  her  feel  that 
the  greatest  cruelty  would  be  to  keep  her  in  sus- 
pense. 

"  It  is  from  Maurice,"  she  said. 

Winnie  nodded ;  she  had  known  it,  and  had  been 
watching  her  aunt's  changing  face  all  the  time  she 
was  reading.  But  she  could  not  speak. 

"My  darling,"  said  Mrs.  O'Brien,  drawing  her 
closer  to  her,  "  Maurice  is  ill." 

"  Yes,  auntie,"  in  a  steady  voice.  "And  we  are 
going  to  him." 

"  I  am,  Winnie — at  once — and  I  will  come  back 
and  tell  you  directly." 

No  reply.     Her  lips  were  quivering. 

"  If  you  and  Maurice  were  my  own  children,  Win- 
nie, I  would  take  you.  But  I  must  not,  for  your 
mother's  sake." 

A  look  of  agonized  imploring  from  Winnie's  eyes, 
but  not  a  word.  Partly  because  the  words  seemed 
strangled,  and  partly  because  she  did  very  earnestly 
want  to  do  what  Maurice  would  think  right. 

"  I  must  not,  darling.  Do  you  understand  ? 
Maurice  and  I  talked  about  it  once,"  she  said,  "  and 
he  begged  me  not." 

"  Maurice  did  ?"  said  Winnie,  with  one  sob.  And 
then,  "  Oh  auntie,  I  cannot  make  it  out,  but  I  will 
try  to  bear  it." 

"And  now,  Winnie,  the  sooner  I  am  gone,  the 
sooner  I  shall  be  back." 

"And  Maurice  will  be  glad  to  see  you,  auntie." 

The  tears  were  kept  back.  The  bell  was  rung 
32* 


WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

for  the  carriage,  but  Winnie  found  comfort  in  run- 
ning out  to  the  stable  and  telling  the  coachman. 
No  one,  she  was  sure,  (fould  do  it  so  quickly.  -  And 
then  she  came  back  and  handed  Mrs.  O'Brien  her 
things,  and  stood  with  her  at  the  door  waiting  for 
the  carriage,  without  a  tear  or  another  entreaty. 
Only  just  as  the  wheels  were  heard,  her  face  flushed 
crimson,  and  she  whispered : 

"  Not  if  Maurice  would  not  wish  it,  auntie,  but 
if  I  might  drive  in  with  you  and  wait  outside !  I 
should  see  his  window,  and  I  should  know  an  hour 
sooner,  and  I  should  not  come  near  any  danger. 
Only  not  if  Maurice  and  you  would  think  it 
wrong." 

Mrs.  O'Brien  hesitated  an  instant,  and  then  con- 
sented, and  almost  before  she  was  in  the  carriage, 
Winnie  was  beside  her,  Rosalie  for  once  making  no 
attempt  to  delay  her  toilette. 

What  an  age  the  few  minutes  at  the  door  of 
Maurice's  parsonage  seemed  to  the  child  as  she  sat 
in  the  carriage  outside.  How  far  off  all  the  people 
seemed,  passing  by  and  gazing  at  her.  In  another 
world,  Winnie  thought.  It  was  Winnie's  first  ex- 
perience of  the  variableness  of  our  measures  of  time 
and  space. 

But  at  length  Mrs.  O'Brien  reappeared.  And 
with  the  quiet  even  voice  which  naturally  comes  by 
sick  beds,  she  said : 

"  There  is  no  danger."  And  then  she  went  on  to 
say  something  about  weakness  and  slow  recovery. 
But  Winnie  heard  nothing  else.  She  sat  quite  quiet 
until  Mrs.  O'Brien  went  into  the  house  again,  and 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  375 

then  she  sank  down  on  the  floor  of  the  carriage  and 
buried  her  face  on  the  seat,  and  wept  out  one  of 
those  prayers  of  agony  whose  repetitions  are  not 
"vain."  "No  danger — oh,  our  Saviour,  our  dear 
heavenly  Father,  I  do  thank  thee ;  I  am  so  glad ;  I 
do  thank  thee.  No  danger — no  danger.  Oh,  do 
help  me  to  be  good,  and  to  trust  thee  all  my  life !" 

It  was  happy  for  Winifred  that  her  anxiety  had 
been  so  great  as  to  make  her  accept  any  lesser  de- 
gree of  it  as  a  blessing.  For  it  was  long  before  she 
was  allowed  to  see  Maurice  again.  The  disease 
was  but  slowly  prevailed  with  to  relax  its  hold  on 
him,  and  then  it  left  him  so  enfeebled  that  he  was 
ordered  to  winter  in  the  East,  commencing  his  ab- 
sence with  a  voyage  by  the  Bay  of  Biscay  to  Alex- 
andria. 

Very  delicious  it  was  at  first  when  she  could  be 
with  him  again,  to  be  allowed  to  sit  quiet  by  Mau- 
rice, and  watch  what  he  wanted  and  bring  it  to 
him,  although  she  resented  the  reiterated  exhorta- 
tions not  to  talk  to  him  or  to  let  him  talk  to  her  too 
much.  "As  if  it  were  possible,"  she  thought,  "  to 
descend  to  talking,  from" that  rapture  of  sitting  still 
and  looking  at  him,  or  as  if  she  wanted  him  to  do 
anything  but  sit  still  and  let  him  look  at  her." 
Nevertheless,  as  the  days  wore  on,  and  accumulated 
endless  material  for  conversation,  endless  questions 
for  Maurice  to  answer,  endless  things  to  explain  to 
him.  She  began  again  to  despond.  Accustomed 
as  her  imagination  was  to  leap  all  intervals,  and 
taking  the  miraculous  healings  in  the  Gospels  as 
her  chief  experience  of  disease  and  cure,  she  began 


376  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

to  be  plunged  again  in  the  depths  of  despair.  So 
that  when  at  last  Maurice  announced  to  her  that  he 
was*  sentenced  to  absolute  rest  for  at  least  six 
months,  and  to  winter  in  Egypt,  she  felt  persuaded 
she  had  been  buoyed  up  with  false  hopes,  a  convic- 
tion which  was  confirmed  by  Rosalie's  ominous 
waving  of  her  hands  when  the  news  was  communi- 
cated to  her. 

"These  unfortunate  islanders,"  she  murmured, 
"  they  fly  everywhere  from  the  fatal  weight  of  their 
sombre  atmosphere.  But,  ah,  who  can  fly  from  des- 
tiny ?  Ah,  well,  we  will  have  a  mass  said  for  him. 
Who  knows  but  he  may  be  saved  after  all.  The 
good  God  is  merciful." 

"  Pray  that  Maurice  may  be  saved  from  what, 
Rosalie  ?  Pray  that  he  may  only  become  a  Roman 
Catholic  ?  Oh,  please  not  to  ask  that." 

"Ah,  mademoiselle,  perhaps  it  was  wrong ;  but  I 
was  thinking  not  of  M.  Maurice's  soul  so  much  as 
of  his  life,  little  one,  and  of  you." 

"But,  Rosalie,"  rejoined  Winnie,  with  tears  in 
her  eyes,  "  the  gentleman,  the  priest  you  will  ask  to 
pray  for  Maurice  will  not  care  about  it  nearly  as 
much  as  you  do.  And  God  cares  for  the  prayers  of 
the  people  who  care.  Will  you  ask  ?" 

"  Do  I  not,  mademoiselle,  every  evening  ?  Do  I 
not  recommend  M.  Maurice  to  the  protection  of  our 
Lord  ?  Have  I  not  said  hundreds  of  aves  and  paters 
for  him,  more  than  I  did  for  my  little  brother  Jean- 
not?" 

"But  Jeannot  did  not  recover,  Rosalie!"  said 
Winnie,  despondingly. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  377 

"There  is  wood  grown  for  every  one's  coffin, 
poor  little  one,"  said  Rosalie,  whose  practical  reli- 
gion (like  that  of  multitudes  in  all  parts  of  Christen- 
dom, whether  nominally  Roman  Catholic  or  Protest- 
ant), was  derived  from  a  source  more  ancient  than 
the  Christian  era,  and  amounted  to  a  vague  belief 
in  a  perpetual  struggle  between  destiny  and  certain 
friendly  heavenly  powers,  in  which  prayers  and  reli- 
gious rites  may  possibly  make  the  scale  for  a  time 
incline  to'  the  side  of  the  suppliant. 

But  when  one  evening  before  he  left,  Maurice's 
hopeful  encouraging  words  penetrated  the  tearful 
mist  of  Winnie's  forebodings,  and  she  confided  to 
him,  in  a  burst  of  long-repressed  grief,  her  fears 
and  Rosalie's,  he  said : 

"  Winnie,  poor  little  sister,  you  have  indeed  been 
taking  a  long  journey,  quite  down  into  the  sunless 
land  among  the  old  pagan  shades.  And  a  dreary 
company  of  ghosts  you  have  brought  back  with 
you.  Prayers  which  cannot  stop  the  growth  of  cof- 
fins !  And  vague  presentiments  and  stony  fates ! 
Where  have  you  been?  Wake  up,  Winnie,"  he 
said,  "  and  look  up.  It  is  daylight.  This  world  is 
no  bounded  theatre  with  a  low  arched  roof  of  stars 
and  blue,  and  the  destinies  of  men  balancing  in 
scales  you  cannot  touch,  held  in  a  hand  you  cannot 
see,  itself  controlled  by  a  power  without  heart  or 
life,  irresistibly  moving  all  things,  and  outside  all. 
It  is  the  free,  boundless  open  air,  where  all  creatures 
that  are  not  doing  wrong  move  freely.  The  irresist- 
ible power  is  not  Fate  but  Love — not  love  only  as 
a  vague  essence,  but  God-loving — loving  you  and 
32* 


378  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

me,  little  sister,  and  hearing  you  and  helping  me 
every  time  you  pray  for  me,  whether  I  am  sitting 
close  to  you,  or  watching  beside  Dan's  bed,  or  steam- 
ing away  on  the  Mediterranean." 

And  for  the  time  the  old  pagan  ghosts  were  laid 
in  Winifred's  heart.  And  she  parted  with  Maurice 
more  full  of  hope  than  of  fear. 

Meantime  Grace  Leigh  had  been  going  through 
her  own  trials.  For  the  time  her  path  and  Wini- 
fred's had  separated. 

During  Dan's  illness,  and  then  during  Maurice's, 
the  weeks  and  months  had  worn  on  as  time  does 
wear  on  in  sickness — day  crumbling  away  slowly 
after  day,  until,  like  the  soft  land  on  a  coast  on 
which  the  sea  is  slowly  encroaching — no  convul- 
sion's, no  noise,  nor  incident  to  arrest  attention. 
The  passing  observer  sees  only  a  few  grains  of  earth 
gently  mouldering  down  to  the  sands,  like  the  sands 
of  an  hour-glass.  But  the  aged  inhabitant  tells  of 
fields  and  farms  swept  away. 

So  the  year  wore  away  and  the  friends  saw  little 
of  each  other,  and  Christmas  came  round  again. 

Grace  was  seeing  other  things  besides  time  crum- 
ble away  from  her.  She  was  sitting,  one  evening 
early  in  January,  in  her  own  room,  with  the  red 
morocco  Bible  open  before  her  at  the  page  with  her 
mother's  writing  in  it.  Her  eyes  were  cast  down, 
but  she  was  not  reading,  and  slowly,  under  the 
almost  closed  lids,  tears  were  falling — slow,  heavy 
drops,  not  like  the  showers  which  clear  the  air,  but 
like  the  heat-drops  on  a  sultry  day. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  3-9 

It  was  the  evening  of  the  annual  visit  to  Mr. 
Hunter's.  But  it  was  not  that  which  was  depress- 
ing Grace.  The  oppressive  weight  of  Cousin  Felix's 
patronage  had  been  greatly  lightened  by  little 
Maud's  welcome.  She  managed  to  find  some  quiet 
minutes  to  tell  Mr.  Leigh  how  much  happier  she 
had  been  since  her  talk  with  him;  but  without 
words  the  quiet  look  of  the  little  thin  face  and  the 
unclouded  smile  with  which  she  welcomed  him 
would  have  told  of  the  rest  which  had  come  into 
her  heart. 

"  You  look  better,  Maud,"  said  Mr.  Leigh,  bend- 
ing over  the  chair. 

"  Yes ;  I  found  it  all  in  the  Bible,"  said  Maud, 
coloring,  "  all  that  you  said." 

"What  did  you  find,  Maud?" 

"  About  God's  better  things,"  said  Maud,  softly,. 
"  and  about  our  not  having  to  be  like  other  people, 
but  just  the  best  we  can  be,  and  about  the  Lord 
saying  to  us,  not  '  Get  on,'  but  *  Follow  Me.'  I 
have  tried  it,  Mr.  Leigh,  and  it  is  so  true.  And  I 
have  worked  it  for  you  in  gold  thread.  Please 
don't  show  it  any  one,"  she  added,  giving  him  a 
parcel,  "  for  it  is  not  illuminated  but  only  worked, 
and  Alicia  and  Adela  say  it  is  only  fit  for  Sunday- 
school  children.  But  I  thought  you  would  accept 
it,  and  I  am  so  very  much  obliged  to  you.  No  one 
ever  helped  me  as  you  did." 

Which  conversation  Mr.  Leigh  related  on  their 
return  to  Grace  with  a  faltering  voice,  as  he  un- 
folded the  wrapping  of  silver  paper  and  discovered 
a  Bible-marker,  on  which  were  worked  on  perfor- 


38o  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

ated  card-board,  in  black  silk  and  gold,  the  words, 
"  If  any  man  serve  Me,  let  him  follow  Me." 

And  yet  it  was  from  little  Maud's  lips  that  the 
wound  had  come  to  Grace  that  day,  which  was 
costing  her  those  bitter  tears. 

Grace  had  begun  saying  something  to  Maud 
(drawn  on  by  her  loving  sympathy  about  her  draw- 
ings) about  Harry  going  to  the  University  and  be- 
coming a  clergyman. 

But  little  Maud's  face  had  clouded,  and  after  a 
silence  she  had  looked  up,  and  said  timidly  : 

"  Are  you  sure  Cousin  Harry  wishes  it,  Cousin 
Grace  ?" 

Those  words,  gentle  as  they  were,  had  pierced 
Grace's  heart  like  a  sting,  as  the  simplest  words  so 
often  will  which  compel  us  to  face  fears  we  have 
been  struggling  to  repress,  and  she  sat  silent  a  few 
minutes,  inwardly  recalling  what  Maurice  had  said 
to  her  on  the  same  subject. 

"  Has  Harry  been  saying  anything  to  you, 
Maud  ?"  she  said  at  length. 

"No;  I  never  asked.  Only  once  when  I  was 
saying  to  him  how  nice  it  must  be  to  be  a  clergy- 
man like  Mr.  Leigh,  he  did  not  seem  to  think  it 
nice.  At  least  he  looked  grave,  and  began  to  talk 
about  Hampstead  Heath,  and  a  strange  kind  of 
lizard  he  found  there,  and  about  getting  the  crea- 
tures for  my  Aquarium.  So  I  thought  Cousin 
Harry  did  not  perhaps  wish  to  be  a  clergyman," 
concluded  Maud,  "  and  asked  him  if  he  could  get 
me  some  creatures  one  day  from  the  Hampstead 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  tfi 

Ponds  for  my  Aquarium.  And  he  seemed  to  like 
that  much  better.  But  perhaps  it  was  only  that 
Cousin  Harry  did  not  like  to  speak  to  me  about  it, 
or  to  any  one  but  you,  Cousin  Grace,"  she  added, 
seeing  the  shadow  on  Grace's  brow,  with  the  quick 
perception  of  one  whose  feelings  generally  expressed 
themselves  more  in  looks  than  in  words,  and  whose 
life  had  consisted  so  much  in  watching  other  peo- 
ple's lives. 

But  Maud's  tender  little  apology  could  not  do 
away  with  the  effect  of  her  previous  question ;  and 
the  next  evening  when  Mr.  Leigh  happened  to  be 
out  and  the  brother  and  sister  were  left  alone  Grace 
resolved  bravely  to  face  the  question,  which  she 
now  for  the  first  time  felt  how  determinedly  she 
had  evaded. 

Harry  was  only  too  ready  on  his  part  for  the 
confidence.  She  began  with  referring  to  his  diifi- 
culties  with  Latin  and  Greek. 

"  It  is  not  necessary,  you  know,  Harry,"  she  said 
"  for  you  to  know  so  very  much  of  the  classics. 
At  least  Mr.  Bertram  says  not.  And  even  if  you 
only  just  passed,  the  University  honors  are  not 
everything.  And  you  might  be  useful  in  your 
parish  in  all  kinds  of  practical  ways  afterwards." 

"It  is  not  the  Latin  and  Greek,"  said  Harry, 
availing  himself  desperately  of  the  first  opportu- 
tunity  Grace  had  given  him,  "  or  the  University. 
It  is  the  being  a  clergyman,  Grace.  Don't  think 
me  very  wicked  or  ungrateful.  I  never  can,  I  am 
sure  ;  I  never  shall  be  fit  for  it.  I  have  been  long- 
ing to  tell  you  for  months  and  months.  I've  been 


382  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

a  great  coward  not  to  tell  you  before,  but  I  could 
not  bear  to  see  you  unhappy.  But  I'd  rather  stand 
behind  Mr.  Treherne's  counter  than  stand  up  in  a 
pulpit  to  preach." 

"  But  you  cannot  stand  behind  Mr.  Treherne's 
counter,"  said  Grace,  "  and  you  would  not  have  to 
stand  in  a  pulpit  and  preach  for  years." 

"  But  I  should  be  getting  nearer  it  every  year," 
replied  Harry,  who  had  felt  being  silently  and  irre- 
sistibly attracted  to  that  dreaded  point  by  the  silent 
power  of  Grace's  gentle,  persistent  will,  desperately 
bent  on  not  losing  this  chance  of  escape. 

Grace  said  nothing. 

"  You  think  me  ungrateful  and  heartless  !  If  it 
were  only  anything  in  the  world  to  do  or  go  through, 
Grace ;  but  I  can't  talk  about  things.  I  have  asked 
God  to  help  me,"  he  added,  "  but  it's  no  good.  It's 
no  good,  you  know,  Grace,"  he  said  in  a  reverent 
tone,  "  to  ask  even  God  to  make  an  oyster  into  a 
nightingale.  And  that's  just  what  I  am.  I  mean 
an  oyster.  When  I  feel  anything  most  it  doesn't 
make  me  speak,  it  shuts  me  up ;  and  I  shall  never  be 
any  better.  So  what's  the  good  of  my  ever  hoping 
to  make  sermons  ?  If  I  care  about  things,  \  can't 
talk  about  them ;  and  if  I  don't,  of  course  there's 
nothing  to  talk  about,  unless  you  talk  humbug,  and 
I  can't  even  do  that,"  said  Harry  despondently,  in- 
voluntarily proving  his  position  by  his  very  impo- 
tence to  make  his  meaning  clear. 

To  his  infinite  relief  Grace  looked  up  with  one 
of  her  brightest  smiles  (she  kept  the  tears  for  after- 
wards) and  said: 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  383 

"  I  don't  think  you  ungrateful  or  wicked,  Harry. 
I  only  think  I  have  been  very  stupid  and  willful  and 
blind." 

Harry  in  an  ecstacy  of  gratitude  and  relief  and 
tenderness,  was  surprised  into  further  confiding  to 
his  sister  his  ardent  desire  to  be  a  medical  man,  and 
more  especially,  to  be  a  naval  surgeon.  In  this 
direction  Harry  soon  became  eloquent,  and  Grace 
endeavored  to  enter  into  it,  though  to  the  last  she 
continued  in  doubt  whether  the  chief  element  of 
Harry's  choice  was  dread  of  sermon  making,  a  later 
development  of  his  childish  passion  for  tittle-bats, 
the  love  of  wandering  and  of  maritime  adventure, 
which  is  a  phase  in  Anglo-Saxon  boy-nature,  or  a 
genuine  instinct  towards  the  profession  he  was 
made  for. 

Of  one  thing,  however,  Grace  felt  more  and  more 
certain  as  she  sat  alone  in  her  room,  after  this  inter- 
view with  her  brother,  and  that  was  that  the  dream 
of  life  for  Harry  which  had  been  interwoven  with 
all  her  thoughts  and  had  inspired  half  her  work 
and  sacrifices  ever  since  she  could  remember,  must 
be  given  up  for  ever. 

Harry  would  never  be  the  blessing  of  that  ideal 
parish  where  he  was  to  have  been  watched  for  by 
sick-beds  and  listened  to  so  eagerly  by  an  eager, 
simple-hearted  congregation,  while  she  was  going 
quietly  in  and  out,  and  supplementing  his  work 
among  the  mothers  and  the  little  ones,  and  hearing 
how  he  was  beloved  and  watched  for  on  sick  and 
dying  beds,  while  Mr.  Leigh  in  a  green  old  age,  set 
free  from  the  weight  of  constantly  recurring  preach- 


384  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

ing  which  tried  his  nerves,  might  be  the  gentle 
counsellor  and  friend  of  all  in  need  of  sympathy 
and  counsel,  and  the  centre  and  consecration  of 
that  ideal  humble  little  parsonage  which  Grace  was 
to  make  such  a  resting-place  for  her  father  and 
brother. 

A  whole  world  of  sweet  visions  had  been  shat- 
tered that  evening.  But  more,  perhaps,  than  over 
this  desolation,  she  was  grieving  over  the  strength 
of  her  own  rebellious  will.  With  her  sweet,  bright 
temper,  accustomed  as  she  was  to  yield  her  own 
selfish  wishes  to  others,  and  to  make  music,  like  a 
quiet  brook,  of  the  tiny  obstacles  which  turned  her 
out  of  her  course,  Grace  had  never  until  that  even- 
ing learnt  the  strength  of  her  own  will.  Like  most 
sweet-tempered  and  gentle  people,  she  had  been 
much  used  to  having  her  own  way.  The  strength 
which  peevish  tempers  waste  in  perpetual  small 
contests  had  with  her  been  gathered  into  the  greater 
purposes  of  life.  Unselfish  alike  in  small  plans  and 
great,  with  a  heart  whose  love  all  trusted,  and  a 
quiet  good  sense  no  one  could  help  leaning  on,  she 
was  little  aware  how  much  the  lives  of  those  around 
her  had  been  moulded  by  her  gentle,  persistent  will. 
And  now  she  blamed  herself  far  more  than  Harry 
for  having  so  long  misunderstood  him.  The  "  Thy 
will  be  done  "  that  evening  had  especial  need  of  the 
"  as  it  is  in  heaven"  to  make  her  resolve  to  bend  her 
own  cherished  life-purpose,  which  seemed  to  her 
so  clear  and  good,  to  that  larger  scheme  of  which 
she  saw  so  little. 

And  the  next  morning,  when  she  came  down,  as 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  385 

usual,  to  do  an  hour's  painting  before  breakfast,  the 
work  did  seem  sadly  flattened  into  prose,  now  that 
the  money  raised  by  it  was  to  purchase,  not  the 
ambrosia  of  that  ideal  clerical  life,  but  the  daily 
bread  wherewith  to  make  Harry  a  naval  surgeon. 

Yet  she  knew  that  Mr.  Bertram  had  been  right  in 
saying  that  the  highest  work  for  any  one  of  us  is 
that  given  us  to  do.  And  when  her  father  met  her 
revelation  to  him  of  Harry's  confidence  with  awful, 
vague  terrors  as  to  the  moral  and  theological  perils 
to  which  medical  students  are  exposed,  tempted  as 
she  felt  to  seize  this  chance  of  escape  back  into  her 
own  way,  she  nevertheless  honestly  transferred  her- 
self to  Harry's  side,  and  succeeded  in  persuading 
Mr.  Leigh  to  consult  an  old  friend  of  his  who  was 
now  an  eminent  physician ;  the  result  of  which 
consultation  was,  that  Harry  was  permitted  to  fol- 
low the  career  of  his  choice,  the  only  stipulation 
which  Mr.  Leigh  made  being  that  he  should  do 
nothing  decisive  until  Mr.  Bertram  returned,  and 
Harry  could  have  a  confidential  talk  with  him. 

Winnie,  to  whom  Grace  confided  her  disappoint- 
ment, ,and  to  whom  Maurice's  life  and  lot  were  the 
real  and  ideal  of  every  vision,  sympathized  deeply 
with  the  fall  of  Harry's  prospects.  Personifying 
her  visions  from  the  characters  known  to  her,  it 
seemed  to  her  a  terrible  fall  indeed  from  a  destiny 
like  Maurice's  to  driving  about  in  a  brougham  like 
Dr.  Dee,  and  discussing  coughs,  and  sore  throats, 
and  nerves. 

"  However,"  she  said, "  Grace,"  desperately  catch- 
ing at  the   only  consolatory  idea  that   suggested 
S3 


3 86  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

itself,  "  St.  Luke  was  a  physician ;  and  he  found 
time  to  write  the  Gospel  and  the  Acts  between 
times.  So  perhaps  Harry  may  do  some  good  things 
by  the  way ;  perhaps  he  may  even  plan  about  them 
while  he  is  driving  in  that  brougham." 

"  I  cannot  bear  that  the  work  for  God  should  be 
only  leisure-work"  said  Grace.  "I  wanted  all 
Harry's  business-work  to  have  been  all  of  the  highest 
kind." 

"  But,"  said  Winnie,  "  there  must  be  congrega- 
tions, Grace ;  and  don't  you  think  the  people  who 
listen  may  be  doing  a  little  bit  of  God's  work  as 
well  as  the  people  who  speak  ?  Don't  you  think 
the  people  who  look  at  the  pictures  may  be  of  a 
little  use  as  well  as  the  people  who  paint  them  ?  I 
do  hope  they  may;  because  it  seems  to  me  as  if  I 
were  good  for  very  little  but  being  one  of  the  peo- 
ple to  look  and  listen." 

"  The  lives  of  people  must  certainly  be  more 
than  paintings  or  poems  about  them,"  said  Grace, 
thoughtfully.  "The  living  people  must  be  more 
than  the  songs  or  the  pictures." 

"  And  then,"  said  Winnie,  "  if  Harry  is  a  really 
clever  doctor,  and  helps  to  make  the  people  them- 
selves stronger,  and  healthier,  and  less  suffering, 
they  may  paint  better,  and  sing  better,  and  preach 
better,  and  live  better,  Grace ;  and  that  does  seem 
something  worth  doing,  particularly  if  God  means 
him  to  do  it,"  concluded  Winnie,  softly ;  "  for  I 
suppose  God  does  mean  some  people  to  be  doctors." 

"  I  remember  Mr.  Bertram  said  once,  to  do  God's 
work  is  simply  to  do  His  will,"  responded  Grace. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.       387 

And  with  this  appeal  to  the  keeper  of  her  con- 
science, with  Winnie  at  least  the  point  was  settled. 

From  her  old  friends,  the  Miss  Levels,  Gracie 
did  not  find  quite  so  much  sympathy  as  she  ex- 
pected. Miss  Betsy,  indeed,  thought  it  was  a  social 
descent  for  Harry,  naval  surgeons  not  having  had 
the  highest  social  standing  in  early  days.  But  Miss 
Lavinia  had  a  medical  ideal  of  her  own.  She 
thought  a  clever,  kind-hearted,  high-principled 
parish  doctor  in  the  east  of  London  might  have  as 
lofty  a  career  as  Henry  Martyn  or  St.  Francis 
Xavier,  and  might  bring  light  and  heavenly  com- 
fort into  many  corners  no  clerical  foot  would 
penetrate. 

"  And  Gracie,  darling,"  she  said,  "  I  have  found 
if  we  want  to  help  people,  we  must  do  it  in  their 
own  way,  not  in  ours.  Pray  God  that  Harry  may 
be  the  best  doctor  that  can  be,  Gracie ;  and  I  think 
by-and-by  you  will  find  all  is  right,  and  will  give 
very  hearty  thanks  that  you  had  to  give  up  your 
own  way.  I  am  sure  we  shall  find  it  so  always, 
Gracie,"  continued  Miss  Lavinia ;  "  only  it  is  im- 
possible sometimes  to  see  how." 

There  was  a  sad  emotion  about  Miss  Lavinia's 
tones  which  startled  her,  and  looking  up,  she  saw 
quiet  tears  on  the  thin  pale  face. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Miss  Lavinia  ?  Can  I  do 
anything  ?" 

"  It  is  only  that  we  seem  falling  a  little  further 
down,  Gracie,"  said  Miss  Lavinia.  Two  of  the 
parents  came  last  week  to  say  their  little  girls  did 


3 88  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

not  get  on  fast  enough,  which  they  were  sure  could 
not  be  the  children's  fault,  as  both  their  papas 
and  mammas  knew  they  had  remarkable  capacities. 
But  they  took  them  away,  and  it  was  only  just 
enough  before ;  and  I  cannot  quite  see  what  we  are 
to  do,  nor  can  Betsy." 

Grace's  lips  parted  for  a  request,  but  her  eyes 
met  Miss  Lavinia's  and  she  did  not  venture  to 
utter  it. 

"  No,  Gracie,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head,  "  it  is 
of  no  use  saying  a  word  more  about  that.  You 
have  paid  us  back  to  the  very  full  all  your  education 
could  have  cost,  and  much  more,  I  am  afraid,  than 
it  was  worth  ;  and  we  would  rather  both  of  us  go 
to  the  workhouse  than  take  another  penny  from  you 
or  yours.  But  oh,  Gracie,"  she  continued,  putting 
her  face  in  her  handkerchief,  with  a  burst  of  grief 
most  unlike  her  tranquil,  subdued  self—"  Gracie,  it 
is  for  Betsy  I  am  so  unhappy.  She  has  tried  one 
pair  of  glasses  after  another,  until  they  say  there 
are  no  stronger  to  be  had.  For  many  months  she 
has  done  nothing  but  knit  by  candle-light,  and  to- 
day she  made  several  mistakes  in  reading  the  psalms 
and  lessons.  She  thinks  I  do  not  notice  it ;  but  oh, 
Gracie,  I  think  of  scarcely  anything  else !  And 
she  has  a  way  of  putting  out  her  hand  to  feel  her 
way,  I  cannot  bear  to  see.  It  is  like  my  grandpapa 
when  the  cataract  was  coming  on." 

Grace  caught  eagerly  at  the  word,  for  she  also 
had  noticed  Miss  Betsy's  failing  sight. 

"  But  cataract  can  be  removed,  Miss  Lavinia," 
she  said.  "  Oh,  if  Harry  were  only  grown  up  and 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  389 

a  doctor  now !"  she  continued,  for  the  first  time 
seeing  some  light  on  Harry's  choice. 

"  I  know  it  can  be  removed,"  said  Miss  Lavinia. 
"  But  sometimes  it  takes  years  coming  on,  and  all 
the  time  the  eyes  almost  useless.  But  don't  breathe 
a  word  of  it,  Grace,"  she  added,  as  Miss  Betsy's 
brisk  knock  was  heard  at  the  door,  and  her  quick 
step  in  the  passage — "  not  a  syllable." 

Miss  Betsy  looked  flushed  when  she  came  in. 

"  The  people  are  ruder  and  more  republican  than 
ever,"  she  said.  "  I  declare  I  think  one  would  be 
treated  with  more  respect  in  the  United  States.  I 
have  heard  they  are  civil  to  women  there,  even  old 
women.  I  just  happened  to  run  against  the  wheel 
of  a  costermonger's  orange  cart,  and  to  throw  down 
a  few  oranges,  in  crossing  the  street,  and  he  swore 
at  me,  and  asked  if  I  was  deaf  or  blind." 

Grace  and  Miss  Lavinia  glanced  hastily  at  each 
other,  and  colored  to  as  deep  a  crimson  as  Miss 
Betsy  herself. 

"  It  is  very  strange,"  she  continued :  "  the  cart 
was  the  same  color  as  the  street,  and  I  did  not  see 
it  at  first.  I  had  my  spectacles  on,  too  :  but  there 
is  no  one  now  who  knows  how  to  make  spectacles 
as  they  were  made  in  our  grandmamma's  time. 
She  could  see  to  read  small  print  by  candle-light 
when  she  was  eighty,  with  those  glasses  on ;  but  I 
broke  one  of  them,  and  I  cannot  find  any  fit  to 
wear.  There  is  a  great  optician  somewhere  near 
the  British  Museum,"  she  exclaimed,  as  if  struck 
with  a  sudden  thought ;  "  Grace,  will  you  go  with 
me  next  Saturday  half-holiday  ?" 
33* 


39o  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

Grace  appealed  with  her  eyes  to  Miss  Lavinia, 
and  receiving  an  assenting  nod,  with  a  trembling 
heart  she  agreed  to  go. 

Accordingly  on  the  following  Saturday  afternoon, 
a  slight  fair  girl  and  a  brisk,  decisive  old  lady  ap- 
peared in  the  great  optician's  shop.  Pair  after  pair 
of  spectacles  the  old  lady  decisively  rejected,  not 
without  historical  comments  depreciating  to  the 
science  of  the  century,  until  the  shopman's  patience 
was  all  but  exhausted,  and  would  have  been  en- 
tirely, but  for  the  gentle  voice  which  kept  endeav- 
oring to  keep  peace. 

At  length  appeal  was  made  to  a  person  of  more 
authority  in  the  shop,  whose  experience  and  quiet 
manner  had  weight  with  the  difficult  customer. 
After  a  few  more  futile  endeavors  to  find  glasses 
that  would  make  ordinary  print  visible : 

"  Madam,"  said  the  person  in  authority,  "  would 
you  permit  me  to  look  at  your  eyes." 

The  elderly  lady  consented. 

"  Cataract !"  was  pronounced  decisively ; "  on  one 
eye  in  an  advanced  state.  The  other  probably  will 
not  be  ready  for  an  operation  for  some  little  time." 

"  Sir,"  said  the  elderly  lady,  firing  up,  "  I  regret 
to  see  that  respectable  tradesmen  can  attempt  to 
account  for  the  deficiency  of  their  instruments,  by 
throwing  out  most  painful  insinuations  against  their 
customers'  organs  of  vision." 

And  the  aggrieved  lady  swept  hastily  out  of  the 
shop,  in  her  indignation  very  nearly  casting  a 
further  slur  on  her  organs  of  vision,  by  running 
through  the  glass  door.  But  the  young  girl  who 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  391 

lingered  a  moment  after  her,  to  deprecate  the  anger 
of  the  optician,  and  to  thank  the  shopman  for  his 
patience,  saw  the  latter  give  a  little  scornful  shrug, 
which  the  older  man,  however,  checked  by  saying, 
"  Poor  lady,  it  must  have  been  a  shock.  But  she 
has  spirit  enough  for  an  operation.  She  may 
get  all  right  again."  The  young  girl  lingered  a 
moment. 

"  Would  it  be  quite  a  year,  sir,  before  anything 
could  be  done  ?" 

"  Depends  on  how  long  the  other  was  forming. 
If  you  like,"  he  added,  softening  to  the  pleading 
look,  "  you  may  come  again,  that  is,"  he  added 
with  a  smile,  "  if  the  lady  thinks  better  of  me." 

"  She  is  very  patient  generally,"  pleaded  the  girl 
as  she  hastened  away. 

In  a  moment  Grace  rejoined  Miss  Betsy. 

"  What  have  you  been  about,  Grace  ?  I  would 
not  give  another  look  at  that  impudent  creature. 
And  she  went  on  denouncing  spectacles,  opticians, 
and  science,  and  commerce  in  general,  as  under- 
stood in  these  degenerate  days,  until  they  reached 
the  penny  steamer.  There  she  sat  quiet  beside 
Grace,  until  they  nearly  reached  their  destination, 
and  then  in  a  lowx  changed  voice,  she  said  : 

"  Gracie,  I  have  been  thinking  it  all  over.  And 
I  think  the  man  was  right.  How  long  did  he  say 
it  might  be  before  there  might  be  an  operation? 
It  was  foolish  of  me  to  be  so  angry,  but  I  was 
startled,  and  I  thought  he  was  trying  to  impose  on 
me,  and  I  did  not  listen." 

"  He  said  it  might  be  within  a  year,"  said  Grace, 


392  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

"  and  he  said,"  she  added,  timidly,  "  if  you  liked, 
and  thought  better  of  it,  he  would  look  again." 

"  Then  that  was  what  you  stayed  back  for, 
Gracie  ?"  said  Miss  Betsy,  with  a  sad  little  attempt 
at  a  smile.  "  Then  you  believe  it  ?" 

Grace  could  not  deny. 

"  Don't  tell  Lavinia — don't  breathe  a  word  to 
Lavinia !" 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  easier  for  Miss  *Lavinia  to*know, 
than  to  be  suspecting  ?"  said  Grace. 

"  What,  is  Lavinia  suspecting  ?"  said  Miss  Betsy, 
fiercely.  "  You  have  been  talking  me  over !  I 
can't  bear  it !  She  has  treated  me  like  a  child.  I 
am  not  a  foolish,  nervous,  old  woman,  to  be  petted 
and  coaxed,  or  to  coax  and  pet  myself.  I  always 
like  to  know  the  truth,  and  the  whole  truth.  I  am 
getting  blind,  Gracie !  blind"  she  said,  repeating 
her  words  in  slow  wondering  accents,  as  if  to  en- 
grave the  fact  deep  on  her  unbelieving  mind. 
"  Blinder  and  blinder,  day  by  day,  week  by  week, 
and  month  by  month,  until  it  will  be  quite  dark, 
and  I  shall  have  to  be  led  about  like  a  child." 

"  And  then  all  the  darkness  is  to  go  in  a  moment, 
and  you  are  to  see  as  well  as  ever  again.  What  a 
day  that  will  be,  Miss  Betsy  !" 

"  But  twelvemonths  and  more,  Grace,  who  knows 
how  much  longer.  Things  always  take  longer 
than  doctors  say.  And  what  is  to  become  of  the 
school !" 

"  I  see  no  difficulty  about  that,"  said  Grace 
timidly,  yet  resolved  to  speak  out.  "  You  know, 
Miss  Betsy,  how  I  have  always  longed  to  learn  to 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  393 

teach.  And  with  you  and  Miss  Lavinia  to  help,  it 
would  be  just  the  very  opportunity.  Because  it 
would  be  real,  you  see,  and  one  never  can  learn 
anything  real,  I  think,  by  playing  at  it." 

Miss  Betsy  shook  her  head  and  said  no  more 
until  they  reached  home. 

But  when  they  reached  the  little  parlor,  where 
Miss  Lavinia  was  awaiting  them  in  fear  and  trem- 
bling, Grace  gave  such  a  cheering  narrative  of  the 
optician's  hopeful  view  of  the  case,  interwoven  with 
her  own  loving  plans  for  aiding  in  the  school,  that 
she  almost  persuaded  the  sisters  for  the  moment 
into  regarding  the  twelvemonths'  growth  of  the 
cataract  as  a  twelvemonths'  holiday,  especially  pro- 
vided for  Miss  Betsy,  to  prepare  her  for  marvel- 
ous achievements  of  tuition  and  money-making  in 
the  future. 

Full  of  her  schemes,  and  sure  of  sympathy,  Grace 
related  the  day's  history  that  evening  to  Mr.  Leigh, 
while  Harry  was  in  another  room  writing  his  Latin 
exercise. 

"  Grace,  my  darling,"  he  said  at  length,  "  I  would 
have  given  the  world  to  save  you  from  this.  But  I 
cannot  think  what  we  are  to  do  ourselves.  This 
morning  my  voice  quite  broke  down  in  reading  the 
prayers.  And  the  doctor  says  I  must  absolutely 
rest  for  three  months,  and  not  attempt  to  read  a 
service  or  a  sermon.  And  if  not,  I  may  never  be 
able  to  be  of  any  use  any  more." 

Mr.  Leigh  did  not  say  that  the  doctor  had  also 
said  he  was  afraid  even  rest  would  be  of  little  use 
without  change  of  air.  Change  of  air  was  for  him, 


394  WINIFRED  BERTRAM. 

he  believed,  a  simple  impossibility,  and  he  would 
not,  on  any  account  have  tormented  Grace  with 
the  thought  of  it. 

But  to  Mr.  Leigh's  surprise,  Grace  did  not  seem 
nearly  as  crushed  as  he  expected  by  the  tidings. 

"  Father,"  she  said  softly,  "  you  and  Miss  Betsy 
have  been  working  yourselves  to  death  all  your 
lives,  and  now  God  is  giving  you  your  holidays  in 
spite  of  yourselves.  And  he  is  going  to  let  me 
work  a  little  for  you.  And  there  is  nothing  he 
could  have  given  me  in  all  the  world  I  should  have 
liked  half  so  well." 

"  My  child  !"  said  Mr.  Leigh,  stroking  her  hair  as 
she  knelt  before  him  ;  "  my  own  poor,  brave,  little 
Gracie." 

For  Mr.  Leigh  thought  Grace's  projects  little 
more  than  the  dreams  of  a  happy  child,  who  knows 
nothing  of  the  practical  difficulties  of  life. 

He  was  little  aware  how  that  child's  heart  had 
for  years  been  between  him  and  the  practical  diffi- 
culties of  every-day  life. 

He  did  not  perceive  how  the  child's  heart  and 
the  sweet  childish  face  had  grown  into  the  woman's, 
with  all  the  childlike  freshness  in  it  still. 

He  did  not  know  how  that  night  and  the  next 
morning  Grace  knelt  before  the  Father  in  heaven, 
and  felt  a  heavenly  hand  laid  in  blessing  on  her 
head,  not  to  soothe  only,  but  to  consecrate  and  to 
strengthen ;  and  how  she  rose  to  her  daily  work 
with  that  light,  and  joy,  and  freshness  in  Her  heart, 
which  is  expressed  in  the  wonderful  words,  "  chil- 
dren of  light,"  and  "  children  of  the  day." 


CHAPTER  XL 

|T  the  spring  equinox  of  the  following 
year,  Lady  Katharine  Wyse  and  the 
equinoctial  gales  made  a  simultaneous 
descent  on  the  Cedars. 
The  winds  tried  the  strength  of  every  root,  and 
stem  and  stake  in  the  garden,  left  the  paths  strewn 
with  dead  branches,  threw  down  a  decaying  old  pop- 
lar, gave  the  stately  elms  and  cedars  a  fresh  grip  of 
the  soil,  intolerantly  swept  the  atmosphere  clear  of 
fog  and  smoke,  sharpened  the  outline  of  the  distant 
hills,  and  generally  made  every  member  of  the 
vegetable  kingdom  understand  what  it  was  about, 
what  it  was  in  want  of,  what  it  possessed,  and  what 
ground  jt  had  lost  or  won. 

Lady  Katharine,  on  the  other  hand,  was  doing 
the  same  kind  of  work  in  the  animal  kingdom 
within  the  house-^rtrying  the  strength  of  people's 
principles  or  the  nature  of  their  practice,  throwing 
down  tottering  theories,  snapping  off  dead  fragments 
of  belief,  hastening  the  downfall  of  morbid  fears  and 
worn-out  fancies,  defining  the  outlines  of  all  things^ 

(395) 


396  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

and  in  general  making  people  clear  their  mental  and 
moral  atmosphere  of  vagueness  and  mistiness,  and 
understand  what  they  were  seeking,  what  they  had 
found,  what  they  had  lost  or  won,  what  they  were 
really  thinking,  feeling  and  doing,  and  whither  they 
were  going. 

On  the  whole,  she  was  satisfied  with  the  progress 
of  things  and  people  during  her  absence.  Maurice's 
journey,  she  was  sure,  was  the  best  thing  that 
could  have  happened  for  him.  Indeed,  she  was  of 
opinion  that  in  all  possible  cases,  an  Egyptian  or 
Syrian  tour  ought  to  be  insisted  on  as  a  part  of  the 
preparation  for  Orders.  Mrs.  O'Brien,  she  was  glad 
to  find,  had  made  some  friends  among  the  poor  in 
the  east  of  London,  in  whom  she  took  a  true,  whole- 
hearted interest,  caring  for  them  not  as  "  hands," 
nor  as  "  cases,"  nor  merely  as  u  souls,"  but  as  human 
beings  training  for  higher  and  iinmortal  destinies, 
through  all  kinds  of  small  and  humble  earthly 
cares,  and  joys,  and  sorrows.  And,  moreover, 
which  to  Lady  Katharine  seemed  equally  import- 
ant, Mrs.  O'Brien  had  begun  to  find  many  other 
ties  which  of  old  had  been  merely  mechanical  or 
conventional,  to  be  living  and  human.  The  under 
housemaid  and  kitchenmaid,  for  instance,  were  no 
longer  known  to  her  merely  as  wielders  of  brooms 
and  scrubbing  brushes,  but  as  Kitty  Dawson  and 
Lucy  Saunders,  with  parents  and  brothers  in 
far-off  country -homes — in  the  colonies,  in  the  army, 
or  on  the  seas. 

Lady  Katharine  also  highly  approved  of  Mau- 
rice having  given  Dan  the  charge  pf  a  little  ragged 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


397 


Infant  Sunday-School.  The  true  way  to  keep  Di- 
vine truth  fresh  in  the  heart,  she  said,  is  to  keep  it 
flowing.  Dan's  doubts,  she  was  sure,  would  be  ef- 
fectually banished  by  proving1  the  power  of  the 
truth  on  other  hearts. 

Winnie  she  consoled  for  the  lack  of  special  "  tal- 
ents," which  she  occasionally  bewailed,  by  pre- 
senting to  her  the  vision  of  the  return  of  her  father 
and  mother  from  India  with  a  bevy  of  little  brothers 
and  sisters,  to  whom  the  absence  of  engrossing 
tastes,  and  the  possession  of  general  good  sense 
and  capacity  would  make  her  the  perfection  of  an 
eldest  sister.  So  that  Winnie  began  almost  to  be 
glad  that  she  had  no  special  gifts  beyond  a 
general  intelligence,  which  enabled  her  to  do  most 
things  pretty  well,  and  understand  most  things 
quickly,  and  to  appreciate  others  who  had  these  es- 
pecial gifts,  and  could  excel.  In  this  way  the  in- 
terval between  the  "  finishing "  of  her  own  educa- 
tion, and  that  ideal  life  of  devotion  to  Maurice  and 
a  "  mission "  at  the  parsonage,  was,  Winnie  felt, 
likely  to  be  well  filled  up. 

The  only  portion  of  Winifred's  world  with 
whose  condition  and  progress  Lady  Katharine  was 
dissatisfied  was  that  of  which  Grace  Leigh  and  her 
father  were  the  centre. 

"You  have  not  seen  so  much  of  Grace  lately, 
Cecil,  Winifred  tolls  me." 

"  No,  Aunt  Katharine.     It  is  quite  a  grief  to  me, 

as  well  as  to  Winnie.     But  I  cannot  tell  what  to 

do*    Grace    is    doing   wonders.      She    is    earning 

enough  by  her  paintings  to  pay  a  curate  for  under- 

34 


398  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

taking  her  father's  duty  while  he  is  obliged  to  rest. 
And  she  is  helping  the  Miss  Levels  about  their 
school  until  the  cataract  in  Miss  Betsy's  eyes  is  ad- 
vanced enough  for  an  operation.  Grace  Leigh  is 
really  a  wonderful  child." 

"  I  don't  believe  in  wonders,  Cecil ;  and  least  of 
all,  in  wonderful  children.  Children  have  no  right 
to  be  wonderful.  That  is,  when  children  are  said  to 
be  doing  wonders,  Ihey  are  merely  being  suffered  to 
be  spendthrifts,  lavishing  what  ought  to  last  through 
life  on  the  first  fragment  of  it,  and  absolutely  cer- 
tain to  end  in  being  paupers — a  burden  on  others 
when  they  ought  to  be  a  help.  It  is  perfectly  clear 
to  me  what  Grace  Leigh  is  doing.  She  is  killing 
herself  by  inches,  and  she  must  be  stopped." 

"  But,  Aunt  Katharine,  how  is  any  one  to  stop 
her?  That  gentle,  yielding  creatuie  has  the  strength 
of  purpose  in  her  of  a  hero." 

"  Of  course.  Do  you  suppose  Deborah,  or  Joan 
of  Arc,  or  any  of  the  hero-women,  wasted!  their 
strength  in  quarreling  who  should  have  the  first 
turn  with  the  pitcher  at  the  well  ?" 

"  But  what  can  we  do,  Aunt  Katharine  ?  If  to 
supply  the  money  she  earns  were  the  only  thing,  it 
would  be  easy  enough.  But  who  is  to  make  her 
take  it  ?" 

"  And  who  is  to  make  Mr.  Leigh  recover  on  alms, 
if  she  would?1'  replied  Lady  Katharine,  meditat- 
ively. "  Well,  Cecil,  ask  them  all  here,  and  let  us 
see." 

The  invitation  was  given  and  accepted  fo»  the 
following  Monday. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  399 

As  Grace  came  up  the  lawn  to  meet  Winnie,  who 
bounded  down  to  meet  her,  the  happy  light  in  her 
eyes,  the  soft  flush  on  her  face,  the  firm,  light  tread, 
made  Lady  Katharine  doubt  if  after  all  her  fears 
had  not  been  groundless. 

"  You  are  grown  into  quite  a  tall  and  stately 
lady,  Grace,"  she  said.  "  My  little  Grace  is  gone, 
with  the  snowdrops  and  the  spring  violets,  and  we 
are  come  to  the  Bourbon  of  roses  and  the  royal 
Fleurs  de  lys."  For  Grace,  during  the  last  year, 
though  scarcely  seventeen,  had  grown  to  that 
stately  height  which  corresponds  so  well  with  calm 
fair  faces ;  a  little  above  the  middle  stature,  but  with 
that  graceful  suppleness  and  ease  of  carriage  which 
naturally  makes  you  think  of  a  lily,  and  which 
wrung  even  from  Rosalie  the  admission  that  Made- 
moiselle Grace  knew  how  to  walk. 

To  the  end  of  her  days,  "  little  "  was  a  term  of 
endearment  which  might  be  applicable  to  eager,  im- 
pulsive Winnie,  but  scarcely  to  Grace.  Her  growth 
in  every  way  had  been  that  of  a  creature  to  be 
clung  to  or  leant  on,  rather  than  to  cling  and  twine. 
Or  rather  her  clinging  was  more  to  stay  and  up- 
hold what  she  clung  to  than  to  be  sustained,  except 
in  the  one  direction  in  which  she  sought  her  strength* 
And  that  had  drawn  her  upward. 

"  That  child  is  more  than  ever  like  a  Pre-Raph- 
aelite," said  Lady  Katharine  to  Mrs.  O'Brien. 
"  The  appealing,  childish  look  has  grown  into  a 
tender  maidenliness,  while  the  motherliness  re- 
mains. See  the  changes  in  her  face  as  she  glances 
from  happy,  eager,  talking  Winnie  to  her  father. 


4oo 


WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 


She  feels  anxious  about  his  sitting  in  the  draught 
of  that  window,  but  she  will  not  rush  up  to  him  as 
I  should,  to  snatch  him  from  the  danger,  or  kindly 
entreat  him  to  move  as  you  would,  Cecil,  inflicting 
on  him  thereby  the  miserable  self-consciousness  of 
being  watched.  See,  she  is  asking  Winnie's  leave. 
She  just  creeps  away  for  an  instant,  closes  the  win- 
dow, and  now  she  is  talking  eagerly  again  with 
Winnie,  and  Mr.  Leigh  knows  nothing  about  it. 
And  there  is  her  own  sweet,  soft,  ringing  laugh 
again.  I  am  so  glad  to  hear  it.  She  is  just  the 
kind  of  woman  a  man  could  bear  to  be  nursed  by. 
But  Mr.  Leigh  looks  very  worn  and  anxious,  Cecil. 
I  am  so  glad  you  thought  of  arranging  an  interview 
with  Dr.  Dee." 

Dr.  Dee  came  in,  as  if  by  accident,  to  luncheon ; 
had  a  conversation  with  Mr.  Leigh  ;  drew  him  into 
talking  naturally  about  his  ailments,  and  cheered  him 
by  narratives  of  similar  cases  which  had  ended  in 
complete  recovery.  But  afterwards,  when  Lady 
Katharine  asked  him  what  he  thought,  lie  shook  his 
head  and  said : 

"  Nothing  for  it  but  change  of  air.  Some  might 
say  nothing  but  Algiers  or  Cairo.  But  I  suppose 
that  is  out  of  the  question.  And  the  South  of  Eng- 
land, without  anxiety  and  care,  would  do  more 
than  the  climate  of  Egypt,  or  of  Eden,  with  them. 
Curates  at  sixty,  Lady  Katharine,  ought  either  to 
be  made  canons,  with  no  work  and  much  pay,  or 
sent  as  missionaries  among  the  cannibals,  with  es- 
pecial recommendations  to  their  chefs  de  cuisine. 
But  what  is  the  matter  with  the  daughter  ?" 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  401 

"  Miss  Leigh  ?  Do  you  see  anything  the  matter 
with  her  ?" 

"  Yes.  I  said  something  to  her  about  the  neces- 
sity of  a  change  of  air  for  her  father,  and  since 
then  there  is  a  look  of  distress  in  her  eyes,  and  a 
steady  spot  of  soft  color  on  her  cheek  I  don't  like 
to  see.  She  is  too  young  to  have  too  much  strain 
on  her." 

And  Dr.  Dee  took  leave,  setting  Lady  Katharine 
free  to  observe  Grace,  and  to  think  what  must  be 
done  next. 

Grace's  expression  was  indeed  changed  since  she 
had  had  those  few  confidential  words  with  Dr.  Dee. 
Her  eyes  continually  wandered  to  her  father's  face, 
but  no  longer  with  the  tender,  care-taking  look  of 
one  who  felt  she  was  able  to  shield  and  help  him. 
Instead,  there  was  an  anxious,  questioning,  wistful 
gaze,  more  than  once  all  but  melting  into  tears, 
which,  however,  were  always  repressed  with  an  evi- 
dent effort  to  interest  herself  in  what  was  going  on 
around  her. 

Lady  Katharine  noticed  the  change  and  under- 
stood it,  and  longed  to  speak ;  but  there  was  a  gentle 
dignity  about  Grace  which  cut  her  off  from  her 
usual  direct  and  abrupt  road  to  any  point  she 
wished  to  reach,  and  she  could  discover  no  other. 
It  was  her  very  power  to  help,  she  felt,  which 
raised  the  barrier  between  her  and  Grace  in  this 
her  hour  of  sore  need.  Lady  Katharine  could  only 
find  an  opportunity  to  say  to  Grace  when  she  was 
leaving : 

"  Your  hand  is  feverish,  child.  Winnie  told  me 
34* 


402  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

once  Harry  said  I  was  like  everybody's  grand- 
mamma. .  Now,  I  never  let  any  of  my  grandchil- 
dren be  their  own  doctors.  Therefore,  if  you  do  not 
take  care,  I  shall  come  and  see  what  you  are  doing. 
So  write  me  a  bulletin  to  morrow — you  or  Harry — 
or  I  shall  appear  on  a  broomstick.  And  Mrs. 
O'Brien  can  tell  you  how  I  can  scold.  So  take 
care !" 

But  the  next  day  no  bulletin  came.  Only  on  the 
day  following  day  a  note  from  Harry,  in  a  style 
apparently  designed  finally  to  disprove  his  capacity 
for  ever  making  sermons  : 

"  DEAR  LADY  KATHARINE, — Grace  would  not  let 
me  write  yesterday,  and  father  does  not  know  I  am 
to-day.  But  I  was  afraid  you  would  be  angry  with 
Grace  and  come,  so  I  could  not  help  it.  Grace  is 
very  ill.  At  least,  Mrs.  Treherne  says  so.  And  the 
doctor  says  nothing.  At  least,  he  shakes  his  head 
and  says  there  is  no  saying.  It  is  a  sore  throat. 
She  took  it  on  Monday.  It  was  very  cold  as  we 
came  home,  and  I  was  clumsy  and  broke  the  car- 
riage windows.  And  I  shall  never  forgive  myself. 
At  least,  I  never  shall  if  it  is  scarlet  fever.  And 
Mrs.  Treherne  says  that  is  the  way  scarlet  fever  be- 
g'ns,  and  most  things,  she  thinks,  that  are  dangerous. 
And  Grace  would  never  let  me  write  if  she  knew. 
She  keeps  saying  she  shall  be  quite  well  in  a  day  or 
two.  But  I  thought  you  would  be  glad  to  know — 
at  least,  that  I  ought  to  let  you  know.  And  then, 
if  you  think  Grace  is  right,  you  need  think  nothing 
more  about  it ;  only  please,  Lady  Katharine,  I 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  403 

should  like  to  know  what  you  think.  And  please 
let  Miss  Bertram  know.  I  don't  mean  let  her  know 
what  Mrs.  Treherne  thinks,  but  about  the  sore  throat. 

"  Believe  me,  etc. 

"  No  one  can  send  their  love  to  any  one  because 
no  one  knows  about  my  writing,  or  I  am  sure  every 
one  would." 

"  There,  Cecil  I"  exclaimed  Lady  Katharine,  as 
she  threw  this  letter  on  the  breakfast-table ;  "  ex- 
actly what  I  expected.  That  child  has  been  killing 
herself.  Illnesses  are  only  symptoms  of  previous 
mischief,  every  one  knows.  However,  now,  wo 
will  set  things  all  right.  Excuse  me,  Cecil." 

And  Lady  Katharine  rose  and  decisively  rang 
the  bell 

"  What  will  you  do,  Aunt  Katharine  ?" 

"  Do  !  Cecil  ?  Go  and  nurse  the  poor  motherless 
child  at  once.  Be  so  good  as  to  tell  my  maid  I 
want  to  speak  to  her  instantly,"  she  said  to  the 
footman  who  appeared  in  answer  to  the  bell. 
"  Excuse  my  ordering  about  your  servants,  Cecil. 
I  forgot  I  was  not  at  home." 

"  But,  Aunt  Katharine,"  feebly  remonstrated  Mrs, 
O'Brien,  "  if  it  should  be  scarlet  fever,  and  infec- 
tious." 

"  I  am  the  very  person  to  go,  my  dear,  evidently. 
An  old  woman,  with  both  my  sons  settled  in  life,  my 
will  made,  and  all  my  affairs  m  perfect  order." 

"  If  I  could  only  be  of  any  use,"  sighed  Mrs. 
O'Brien,  "I  should  so  delight  to  help  that  dear 
child." 


WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

"  Of  course  you  would,  Cecil,  but  you  can't. 
Your  husband  would  not  hear  of  it,  to  begin  with. 
And,  besides,  excuse  me,  but  you  have  not  despot- 
ism in  you  for  a  nurse.  Of  course,  I  shall  find  all 
the  windows  shut ;  the  patient  distracted  with  all 
manner  of  contradictory  recommendations;  the 
doctor's  orders  supplemented  by  all  manner  of  tra- 
ditional quackeries,  and  Miss  Nightingale's  4  Notes 
on  Nursing,'  systematically  contravened  in  every 
practicable  and  impracticable  way." 

"  But,  Aunt  Katharine,  the  house  is  very  small, 
and  not  at  all  such  as  you  are  accustomed  to, 
and—" 

"  Cecil !  I  have  been  desiring  all  my  life  to  have 
the  privilege  of  making  myself  uncomfortable  for 
the  sake  of -my  fellow-creatures.  And  I  have  never 
been  able  to  attain  anything  beyond  helping  other 
people,  with  the  greatest  ease  and  comfort  to  my- 
sel£  And  now,  when,  at  sixty,  the  golden  oppor- 
tunity offers  itself  to  me,  do  you  think  I  shall  throw 
it  away  ?  Besides,  Cecil,"  she  added,  in  a  grave, 
low  voice,  "  I  remember  too  well  one  long  night, 
thirty  years  ago,  when  I  watched  by  my  own  little 
Evelyn,  to  let  that  sweet  motherless  child  be  alone 
now." 

And  that  very  evening  Lady  Katharine  had  suc- 
ceeded in  establishing  herself  as  head-nurse  in  Grace's 
room,  in  a  soft,  unrustling  dress,  prepared  to  sit  up 
with  her  for  the  night.  She  had  gained  her  point 
and  established  herself  as  commander-in-chief  with 
less  difficulty  than  might  have  been  expected.  Mr. 
Leigh  was  too  anxious  about  Grace  to  be  at  all 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  405 

overwhelmed  with  the  kindness.  It  seemed  to  him 
only  natural  that  any  one  who  knew  Grace  should 
do  anything  that  could  be  done  for  her.  Mrs.  Tre- 
herne  struck  her  colors  at  once  to  my  lady.  Mrs. 
Anderson  who  had  sat  up  on  the  previous  night, 
being  a  woman  of  a  strong  character,  instinctively 
recognized  the  same  in  another,  seeing  the  repose 
which  Lady  Katharine's  quiet  habit  of  command 
gave  to  the  patient.  The  only  contest  was  with 
Miss  Betsy  Lovel,  who  had  no  idea  of  a  stranger 
coming  and  taking  possession  of  everybody  and 
everything  just  on  account  of  a  wretched  little 
scrap  of  rank,  and  because  she  had  been  used  to 
having  her  own  way.  But  she  was  soon  concil- 
iated by  the  tact  which  at  once  conceded  her  rights 
in  full,  as  a  representative  of  British  institutions  in 
general,  and  as  the  oldest  friend  of  Grace's  mother. 

"  I  have  heard  so  much  of  you  and  your  sister," 
Lady  Katharine  said,  "from  that  dear  grateful 
child.  But  I  knew  you  were  neither  of  you  quite 
strong  or  at  leisure  just  now,  and  I  felt  sure  you 
would  allow  me  to  supplement  your  care." 

The  relief  to  Grace  was  unspeakable.  In  the 
first  place  she  had  some  one  who  would  tell  her 
exactly  how  ill  she  was,  without  mystery,  and  with- 
out circumlocution. 

"  I  heard  Miss  Betsy  whispering  so  long  yester- 
day," she  said,  "  with  the  doctor  and  with  father, 
when  they  had  left  my  room.  And  when  she  came 
back  again,  she  looked  so  grave,  until  she  saw  I 
was  watching  her,  and  then  she  nodded,  and  made 
up  such  a  smile  as  you  do  to  a  sick,  fretful  child, 


406  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

and  told  me  in  a  sprightly  voice  that  I  should  be 
all  right  in  no  time.  And  I  do  so  want  to  know 
what  it  is,  and  I  have  had  no  one  to  ask." 

She  seemed  quite  relieved  when  told  it  was  scar- 
let fever. 

"  People  get  well  from  that,  often,  don't  they  ?" 
she  said.  "  I  do  so  very  much  want  to  get  well, 
and  soon." 

But  in  the  night  when  she  had  been  lying  very 
still  for  some  time,  so  that  Lady  Katharine  hoped 
she  was  asleep,  and  crept  to  the  bedside  to  look, 
the  closed  eyes  opened  at  once  as  eyes  that  had 
evidently  only  been  closed  by  an  effort  of  will ;  and 
Grace  said : 

"  Lady  Katharine,  will  you  let  me  say  something 
quite  through  without  stopping  ?" 

"  Am  I  then  such  a  bad  listener,  Grace  •?" 

"  No.  But  every  one  seems  to  think  they  must 
not  let  me  speak,  And  it  is  so  terrible  to  lie  here 
thinking  so  fast,  and  not  be  allowed  to  tell  any  one. 
So  you  will  listen.  If  I  die,  for  people  do  die  in 
scarlet  fever,  I  know ;  would  you  go  to  my  work- 
box  ?  The  key  of  it  is  in  the  left  hand  drawer  of 
the  dressing-table,  and  would  you  take  out  the  bank 
notes  that  are  there  ?  There  are  twenty-five  fire 
pound  notes,  and  one  ten  pound  note  for  my  last 
drawing.  And  would  you,  please  go  to  my  port- 
folio and  take  the  finished  sketch  there  to  the  shop. 
And  would  you  keep  the  money  and  give  it  to 
father,  every  quarter,  really  that  and  nothing  else. 
For  I  feel  sure  it  would  be  enough,  and  that  he 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


407 


will  not  be  long  here,  when  I  am  taken.  But  if  he 
had  it  himself,  he  would  never  think  it  would  last. 
I  meant  it  for  Harry,  and  to  help  about  Miss  Betsy's 
operation.  But  I  can't  help  that,  Lady  Katharine, 
can  I  ?  It  would  not  do  for  everything,  would  it  ? 
And  if  God  takes  me,  He  will  take  care  of  the  rest. 
I  think  I  have  done  nearly  as  much  as  I  could, 
Lady  Katharine.  But  I  could  not  have  foreseen 
this,  could  I  ?  And  will  you  do  this  for  me  ?" 

The  large  bright  eyes  were  fixed  with  intense 
earnestness  on  Lady  Katharine's,  and  she  felt  it 
difficult  to  meet  them  steadily.  But  following  the 
current  of  Grace's  thoughts,  she  went  to  the  dress- 
ing-table and  took  out  a  key  tied  with  blue  ribbon. 

"  Is  this  the  key,  Grace  ?" 

Grace  nodded  and  smiled ;  "  it  was  my  moth- 
er's," she  said,  "  and  you  will  do  it  for  me  ?" 

"  I  will,"  was  the  reply ;  "  I  will  sacredly  keep 
every  word  you  say,  Grace,  and  arrange  everything 
so  that  your  father  shall  not  have  an  anxiety,  and 
shall  owe  it  all  to  you." 

The  strained  expression  relaxed  from  the  flushed 
eager  face.  Grace  stretched  out  her  feverish  hand, 
took  Lady  Katharine's,  and  kissed  it. 

"  I  am  so  thankful,"  she  said,  "  it  will  not  make 
me  die  an  hour  sooner  to  have  said  this,  unless  it  is 
God's  will." 

"  Certainly  not,  my  child.  And  now  I  am  nurse 
again,  and  you  must  obey,  and  lie  still  and  be 
quiet." 

"  Must  I  go  to  sleep  ?" 

"  Not  unless  you  like.     But  you  must  not  talk." 


4o 8  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

A  submissive  smile  came  over  Grace's1  face  ;  but 
'after  a  few  minutes'  tossing  from  side  to  side,  she 
said :  .  ,x . 

"  Would  it  be  very  troublesome  to  you  to  read 
to  me  a  little  ?  I  could  not  read  my  chapters  to- 
day. But  I  think  I  could  attend  to  it  now." 

Lady  Katharine  began  to  read  the  first  lesson 
for  the  day,  but  before  it  was  finished,  the  effort  to 
attend  had  brought  sleep.  Chapter  after  chapter 
Lady  Katharine  read  on,  in  a  low,  monotonous 
voice;  and  book  after  book,  until  the  dawn  was 
reflected  with  a  cold  gray  light  from  the  looking- 
glass,  and  the  first  cries  began  to  be  heard  in  the 
streets ;  and  at  last  Grace  awoke,  and  said,  but 
still  in  a  drowsy  voice : 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  I  am  afraid  I  have  not  been 
listening,  Lady  Katharine.  I  thought  it  was  in 
Deuteronomy,  and  you  are  reading  Isaiah.  Or  is 
my  head  confused  ?" 

"  Don't  you  think  you  have  probably  been  sleep- 
ing three  months,  by  the  calendar  ?" 

Grace  smiled  a  drowsy  little  smile. 

"  If  I  have,"  she  said,  "  I  feel  as  if  I  should  like 
to  sleep  three  months  longer."  ^ 

"  And  you  shall,  if  you  like,"  was  the  reply ; 
"  only  after  three  months  you  ought  to  feel  a  little 
hungry." 

"  I  do,"  she  said,  gladly  receiving  the  veal-jelly 
Lady  Katharine  offered. 

And  from  that  time  the  tide  turned,  and  life  re- 
gained its  power. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  409 

"  In  another  month,  Gracie,  you  shall  recover 
your  personal  existence.  At  present  you  are  only 
a  thing,"  said  Lady  Katharine,  as  she  wrapped 
Grace  up  in  a  warm  shawl,  and  led  her  down  to 
the  carriage,  where  Mr.  Leigh  and  Harry  were  wait- 
ing for  them;  while  Mrs.  Treherne  and  her  six  chil- 
dren were  contemplating  with  a  wonder  too  imper- 
sonal for  envy,  the  stately  coachman,  with  the  foot- 
man and  lady's-maid  solemnly  installed  in  the 
rumble  behind. 

They  were  to  travel  to  Combe,  in  Lady  Katha- 
rine's carriage,  by  short  stages,  to  renew  the  memo- 
ries of  her  youth,  Lady  Katharine  said,  and  to 
give  Grace  and  Harry  a  glimpse  into  the  pre-his- 
toric  days  before  railways. 

"You  can  think  of  Homer,  Gracie,  and  fancy 
yourself  Lady  Jane  Grey  if  you  like,"  she  said. 

"  But  it  was  Plato,  not  Homer,  Lady  Jane  Grey 
was  so  fond  of,"  said  Grace. 

"  Well,  never  mind,"  said  Lady  Katharine,  "  the 
resemblance  is  stronger  than  the  difference.  I  have 
not  the  least  doubt  that  in  similar  circumstances 
you  would  not  have  been  at  all  wiser  than  she  was, 
but  would  have  run  your  head  against  any  amount 
of  difficulties  or  dangers,  if  once  you  had  persuaded 
yourself  it  was  for  the  good  of  religion,  or  of  your 
relations.  But  it  is  of  no  use,  Gracie.  It  is  not  so 
easy  to  get  into  the  Tower  or  upon  a  Martyr's  Me- 
morial in  these  days,  especially  with  a  prosaic  old 
woman  like  me  to  impede  any  such  glorification." 

Grace  was  perfectly  aware  that  a  conflict  was 
impending  between  Lady  Katharine's  will  and  her 
85 


4io  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

own ;  but  she  was  also  aware  that  the  hour  for  this 
conflict  had  not  yet  come ;  and  she  was  too  confi- 
dent in  her  own  strength  of  purpose,  and  too  well 
aware  of  the  strength  of  Lady  Katharine's  position, 
to  risk  any  of  her  forces  in  preliminary  skirmishing. 
Accordingly  she  resigned  herself,  and  Mr.  Leigh, 
and  Harry,  for  the  present,  entirely  to  Lady  Katha- 
rine's guidance,  and  to  any  amount  of  kindness  and 
happiness  that  might  be  destined  for  them,  with  a 
heart  overflowing  with  gratitude  and  peace. 

They  were  not  posting,  but  travelling  with  Lady 
Katharine's  own  horses,  so  that  they  took  the  jour- 
ney in  easy  stages ;  one  stage  usually  in  the  early 
morning,  and  another  in  the  cool  of  the  evening ; 
resting  through  the  heat  of  the  day  at  some  pleas- 
ant country  inn,  where  they  could  explore  delicious 
woodland  nooks  by  brooks  and  rivers,  or  ramble 
over  open  downs ;  or  at  other  times,  in  some  old 
historical  city,  with  cathedral,  and  castle,  and  relics 
of  the  battles  and  homes  of  centuries  ago.  Morn- 
ing after  morning,  and  evening  after  evening,  one 
pleasant  picture  after  another  photographed  itself 
forever  on  Grace's  memory,  as  they  passed  by 
orchards,  snowy  or  rosy  with  pear  or  apple  blos- 
soms, and  smelt  the  fragrance  of  the  hawthorn 
hedges,  and  watched  the  sheep  grazing  on  the  crisp 
grass  of  the  hills,  or  the  cattle  on  the  deep-green 
meadows,  by  stately  parks,  and  quiet  farmsteads  hid- 
den amongst  the  foliage  of  old  trees  ;  and  the  map 
of  England  was  transformed  for  her  into  a  series 
of  pictures  of  English  homes. 

Westward  and  westward  they   went,   past  the 


THE  WORLD  SITE  LIVED  IN.  4i  i 

ehalkdowns  where  King  Alfred's  first  victories 
were  won  ;  past  that  solitary  sacred  circle  of  stones 
whose  history  is  lost  in  a  past  so  far  off  that  it 
makes  King  Alfred  seem  like  a  contemporary, 
until  they  reached  the  deep  Combes  and  Tors  of 
the  West  Country,  whose  antiquities  stretch  beyond 
the  centuries  of  the  historian  into  the  millenniums 
of  the  geologist,  where  moorland  streams  rush  down 
into  deep  wooded  valleys,  from  springs  hidden  at 
the  base  of  old  granite  tors ;  where  the  boldness  of 
mountain  outline  is  combined  with  the  richness  of 
southern  vegetation ;  and  the  valleys  springing 
from  the  feet  of  gigantic  hills  of  bare  rock,  soften 
into  lovely  ferny  dells,  and  end  in  creeks  clothed 
with  luxuriant  wood  to  the  edge  of  the  green,  quiet 
sea,  until  at  length  they  reached  the  first  lodge  of 
Combe  Abbey,  and  looked  down  on  the  hills  folding 
over  each  other  to  form  a  rest  for  the  gray  old 
towers  which  rose  above  the  soft  masses  of  wood. 

It  was  a  great  delight  to  Grace  to  visit  the  old 
place  again,  and  to  discover  how  much  new  beauty 
she  had  learnt  to  see  in  it ;  how  every  tree,  and 
flower,  and  every  form  and  tint,  seemed  to  enshrine 
new  depths  of  life  and  glory,  whilst,  nevertheless, 
the  rapture  of  the  childish  joy  with  which  she  had 
first  looked  down  into  the  green-sea  world  below, 
or  up  through  the  spaces  of  translucent  green  leaves 
into  the  blue-sky  world  above,  was  as  keen  as  ever. 
Where  she  had  seen  one  tint  in  sea  and  sky,  she 
now  saw  thousands ;  where  she  had  heard  one 
mingled  tide  of  music,  she  could  now  discriminate 
countless  voices  and  instruments,  and  the  harmony 


4i2  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

of  innumerable  interwoven  melodies ;  and  yet  the 
song  of  one  lark,  soaring  as  it  sung,  or  the  ming- 
ling of  sea  and  sky  in  every  sunset,  brought  her 
delight  as  fresh  as  at  first.  Those  to  whom  the 
world  is  above  all  a  church — a  place  of  worship 
rather  than  a  picture  gallery  or  an  orchestra — will 
always  find  fresh  beauty  in  its  pictures,  and  new 
depths  in  its  songs.  The  harmonies  which  are  the 
natural  speech  of  adoration  will  never  weary,  the 
colors  which  shine  on  us  through  the  pauses  of  the 
Psalm  and  carry  on  its  strains,  will  never  pall.  It 
is  only  those  to  whom  nature  is  degraded  from  a 
temple  into  a  mere  gallery  of  art,  or  a  quarry  from 
which  to  carve  illustrations,  who  can  ever  find  the 
pathetic  monotony  of  her  repetitions  stale  or  "  vain." 

And  to  Grace  Leigh  the  world  was,  first  of  all,  a 
cathedral ;  and  next,  the  sea-shore  of  the  Iliad  or 
the  sea  of  the  Odyssey  of  human  life. 

Moreover,  she  had  an  especial  delight  in  this 
visit  because  of  its  being  in  a  different  season  from 
the  last.  Her  first  visit  to  Combe  had  been  in  the 
full-grown,  silent,  stationary  days  of  summer,  and 
now  it  was  spring.  Every  day  brought  change, 
and  all  the  change  was  growth.  To  Grace  it 
seemed  like  being  taken  by  a  great  artist  into  his 
studio  and  shown  the  growth  of  his  thoughts  from 
bud  to  blossom — from  sketch  to  finished  picture. 
It  was  like  being  taken  by  the  hand  by  the  gracious 
Mother  Nature  herself,  and  led  into  her  nurseiy, 
and  by  the  cradles  of  her  babes  being  told  in  soft 
tones,  like  lullabies,  old  stories  of  her  own  child- 
hood, ever  renewing  itself  from  spring  to  spring. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


413 


Every  bank  of  those  deep  West  Country  lanes  was 
a  garden  of  primroses  and  violets ;  and  soon  the 
green  glades  of  every  wood  were  shot  with  the 
lustrous  blue  of  innumerable  hyacinths,  while  above 
them  the  birds  sang — no  chance  bursts  of  casual 
music,  but  their  sweetest  home  songs,  waking  their 
nestlings  into  life  with  melody. 

And  then  the  colors !  Instead  of  the  deep  even 
greens  of  summer,  or  the  gorgeous  definite  crimson 
and  gold  and  purple  of  autumn,  there  were  those 
translucent  greens,  and  melting  grays,  and  inde- 
scribable, ever-changing  opals  which  no  pencil  can 
attempt  and  no  memory  recall,  which  need  to  be 
repeated  year  by  year  before  our  eyes  that  we  may 
believe  them  possible,  or  remember  what  they  were. 

And  all  this  beauty  was  not  the  languid  lulling 
loveliness  of  a  season,  but  the  beauty  of  life  and 
hope,  which  braced  Grace  Leigh's  mind  and  heart, 
as  the  fresh  sea-breezes  braced  her  nerves  and 
brought  color  into  her  cheek ;  until  she  felt  strong 
enough  for  anything,  and  counted  it  almost  a  joy  as 
she  looked  at  her  father  to  think  how  he  needed  her 
to  work  for  him.  For  Mr.  Leigh's  voice  was  com- 
ing back,  so  that  her  chief  anxiety  was  over,  and  she 
thought  his  remaining  weakness  was  merely  that 
infirmity  of  age  which  she  knew  must  come,  and 
which  all  her  life  it  had  been  her  prayer  that  she 
might  have  the  privilege  of  soothing  and  support- 
ing. Poor  child,  she  never  thought  of  the  time 
when  all  her  soothing  would  be  in  vain,  and  her 
support  no  longer  needed.  All  her  visions  of  life 
went  no  further  than  the  long  vistas  of  a  pathway 
35* 


WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

with  the  three  walking  in  it;  that  one  beloved, 
revered  form  growing  a  little  feebler  and  more  in 
want  of  support  from  year  to  year,  and  the  two 
beside  it,  year  by  year,  more  able  to  give  it.  This 
was  Grace's  dream  of  life,  and  after  that  heaven ; 
a  "  place  prepared "  for  all,  a  Father's  House,  a 
mother  there  to  welcome;  and  One  better  and 
dearer  than  mother,  father,  or  brother  binding  all 
together  in  the  might  of  His  personal  all-embracing 
love. 

It  was  the  Sunday  of  Grace  Leigh's  first  Com- 
munion. She  had  been  confirmed  before  her  illness, 
and  this  day  she  had  received  for  the  first  time 
from  her  father's  hands  the  cup  and  bread  of  the 
communion  of  the  body  and  blood  of  Christ.  And 
now,  after  the  afternoon  service,  she  had  wandered 
with  her  father  to  the  sea-shore,  and  they  were  sit- 
ting on  a  point  of  rock  which  jutted  out  far  into 
the  sea.  The  receding  tide  was  making  quiet  music 
to  their  quiet  thoughts,  as  it  plashed  softly  round 
the  sea-weed  which  it  floated,  and  for  a  long  time 
they  did  not  speak.  *, . 

Mr.  Leigh  was  watching  Grace,  and  Grace  was 
looking  down  into  the  sea.  He  saw  that  tears  were 
trembling  under  her  drooping  eyelids,  and  at  length 
he  laid  his  hand  on  hers  and  said : 

"  It  is  a  great  day  for  you,  Gracie." 

She  looked  up,  and  the  bright  smile  showed  the 
source  of  the  tears. 

"  Oh,  father,"  she  said,  "  how  good  it  was  of  our 
Lord  not  to  entrust  the  deepest  thing  of  all  to 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  415 

words.  Words  seem  always  to  have  some  limit  j 
or  they  bring  things  before  us  only  one  by  one. 
But  this  that  He  told  us  to  do  in  remembrance  of 
Him  beams  the  whole  Truth  on  us  at  once,  does  it 
not  ?  We  seem  at  once  at  the  foot  of  the  Cross, 
and  at  the  foot  of  the  Throne.  We  seem  at  once 
the  cause  of  His  agony  and  the  crown  of  His  re- 
joicing. We  seem  face  to  face  with  Him  Himself. 
He  gave  Himself  for  us,  and  He  is  giving  Himself 
to  us.  And  we  see  our  sin  and  our  redemption, 
and  Calvary  and  the  marriage-supper  all  in  Him  in, 
Himself.  He  needs  to  say  nothing,  but  He  is  there. 
And  we  need  to  say  nothing  for  He  knows  us 
through  and  through,  and  loves  us.  Is  it  not  won- 
derful ?  Must  it  not  be  almost  as  good  and  beauti- 
ful as  dying  and  going  to  be  with  Him  in  Paradise  ?" 

He  looked  at  her  with  unspeakable  tenderness, 
and  after  a  few  minutes'  silence  he  said : 

"  Ah,  Gracie,  my  poor  child,  we  are  not  in  Para- 
dise yet.  I  tremble  sometimes  at  the  weary  way 
that  may  lie  before  you." 

There  was  something  in  his  tone  that  fell  on  her 
like  a  death-chill.  She  looked  up  anxiously  and  said  : 

"  It  is  getting  near  sunset,  father ;  we  had  better 
go  back  before  we  feel  the  night  air.  But  you  do 
not  feel  ill?" 

"  I  do  not  feel  worse,"  he  said ;  "  but  at  sixty-one 
naturally  thinks  more  for  oneself  of  the  way  behind 
than  of  the  way  before.  But  I  want  you  to  be  for- 
tified for  the  way  before  you.  The  world  is  not  all 
Combe,  Gracie,  and  there  are  many  battles  to  be 
fought." 


416  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

"  Oh,  Father,"  she  said,  « I  like  to  think  of  the 
battles.  It  is  not  like  the  Iliad,  you  know,"  she 
added  with  some  hesitation.  "  Hector's  side  is  to 
win.  It  is  you  who  have  the  victory,  and  not 
Cousin  Felix." 

"  I  am  to  have  the  victory  over  Cousin  Felix  ?" 
he  said,  half  puzzled  and  half  purposely  misinter- 
preting. 

"  No,  no,  father  !"  she  said,  "  you  know  what  I 
mean.  I  mean  that  the  people  who  sacrifice  them- 
selves and  not  the  people  who  succeed  here,  are  the 
real  conquerors,  are  they  not  ?  I  do  like  to  think 
of  this  life  as  an  Iliad  and  an  Odyssey,  father ;  and 
of  all  the  world  as  the  great  battle-plain  on  the 
shores  of  the  great  sea ;  or,  as  the  great  sea  itself 
on  which  we  are  going  home,  through  a  thousand 
perils,  but  sure  to  reach  the  Home,  not  too  late  and 
not  shipwrecked,  but  enriched  and  strengthened  by 
every  battle  and  every  storm." 

"  My  warlike  little  Grade,"  he  said,  "  that  comes 
of  learning  Greek." 

"  Oh,  no,  father  !"  she  replied.  "  You  know  it 
is  all  in  the  Bible,  and  in  the  baptismal  service. 
4  Good  soldiers  of  Jesus  Christ,'  and  '  the  waves 
of  this  troublesome  world.'  That  is  our  Iliad  and 
our  Odyssey,  is  it  not  ?" 

The  next  day  Grace  observed  that  Lady  Katha- 
rine was  in  and  out  all  the  morning  far  more  than 
usual,  and  that  something  mysterious  was  going  on 
in  the  background.  And  in  the  evening  they  were 
all  taken  to  see  a  pretty  rose-covered  cottage  in  the 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  ^j 

village,  which  had  been  recently  furnished.  Lady 
Katharine  prolonged  the  inspection  of  the  rooms 
and  the  various  arrangements,  rather  to  Grace's 
perplexity ;  and,  moreover,  kept  nervously  and  sur- 
reptitiously creeping  to  the  windows,  looking  up 
the  village  street,  and  then  saying  it  was  of  no  con- 
sequence, in  a  nervous  way,  quite  unlike  herself; 
until  at  the  sound  of  approaching  wheels  and  the 
ostentatious  crack  of  a  post-boy's  whip,  she  hastily 
sent  Grace  down  stairs  to  see  who  was  coming. 

Just  as  Grace  reached  the  door  of  the  house,  a 
carriage  stopped  at  it ;  the  steps  were  let  down 
with  an  artistic  flourish  by  the  Abbey  footman, 
and  two  elderly  ladies  walked  up  the  little  garden, 
the  paler  and  feebler-looking  guiding  and  support- 
ing the  brisker  and  stronger  of  the  two. 

"  Miss  Betsy  !  Miss  Lavinia !" 

And  after  a  tumult  of  kisses  and  tears,  and  ques- 
tions to  which  no  one  waited  for  an  answer,  and 
explanations  made  inexplicable  by  absence  of  con- 
text, the  two  old  ladies  were  safely  deposited  in  the 
cheery  little  parlor,  where  tea  was  laid  around  a 
large  vase  of  fresh  flowers. 

"  Where  is  Lady  Katharine  ?"  exclaimed  Grace, 
at  length.  "  She  sent  me  to  see  who  was  coming, 
and  I  forgot  all  about  my  being  her  messenger." 

Upstairs  and  downstairs  Lady  Katharine  was 
sought  in  vain,  until  a  servant  came  from  the  Abbey 
to  assist  in  unpacking  the  ladies'  boxes,  and  to  say 
with  her  ladyship's  apologies  to  the  Miss  Lovels, 
that  her  ladyship  had  gone  home  on  urgent  busi» 
ness,  but  she  hoped  Miss  Leigh  would  make  the 


418  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

ladies  comfortable,  that  Mr.  Leigh  would  fetch  her 
home,  and  her  ladyship  would  call  to-morrow. 

Gradually  the  rush  of  greetings  subsided  over 
the  tea-table  into  a  stream  of  quiet  talk. 

"  So  you  know  nothing  about  it,  Gracie,"  said 
Miss  Betsy.  "  Well,  Lavinia,  ]  do  hope  we  are 
doing  right.  It  seems  to  me  too  pleasant  to  be 
right.  But  Lavinia  says  it  is  as  bad  as  the  Trap- 
pist  monks  to  say  that,  and  we  ought  to  take  all 
from  God  and  from  Lady  Katharine,  as  simply  a? 
children,  and  be  thankful.  But  I  never  thought  it 
would  be  such  a  paradise  of  a  place.  Lady  Katha- 
rine said  it  was  only  a  little  cottage  built  by  her 
husband,  for  which  they  could  find  no  tenant,  and 
it  would  be  quite  a  kindness  for  us  to  come  and 
take  care  of  it.  It  was  rather  ruinous,  she  wrote, 
and  a  little  damp,  and  wanted  fires  and  airing,  but 
she  hoped  we  should  not  find  it  uncomfortable. 
But  this  is  a  paradise,  indeed,"  concluded  Miss  Betsy, 
wiping  her  eyes ;  "  two  parlors,  and  such  a  kitchen, 
and  a  bedroom  with  such  sweet-smelling  things 
round  the'  window.  But  I  suppose  it  cannot  be 
helped!  And  such  an  easy  flight  of  stairs,  just 
made  for  a  poor  blind,  helpless  old  creature  like 
me!" 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Leigh,"  she  resumed,  when  he  arrived, 
"  do  you  think  we  were  right  in  coming  ?  Lavinia 
says  she  is  sure.  But  then  she  always  sees  every- 
thing as  if  it  were  all  from  God  with  nothing  be- 
tween. And  I  can't  feel  quite  so  clear.  I  certainly 
can't  teach  until  I  have  my  eyes  again,  and  I  couldn't 
let  Grace  kill  herself  for  us,  and  Lady  Katharine 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


419 


said  she  would,  so  what  was  there  to  do  ?  And  it's 
only  till  I  can  see  again." 

Mr.  Leigh  thought  there  was  nothing  to  be  done 
but  to  thank  God  and  take  courage. 

But  that  evening  as  they  walked  home,  he  said 
to  Grace,  in  a  manner  remarkably  decisive  fo&  him : 

"  Gracie,  I  must  be  at  home  again  next  Sunday. 
My  voice  is  quite  strong  again.  And  it  is  the 
greatest  blessing  I  have  to  be  able  to  work  for  our 
daily  bread.  I  would  not  give  it  up  for  the 
world." 

Grace  was  quite  of  the  same  mind. 

Lady  Katharine  did  not  attempt  to  oppose  Mr. 
Leigh's  decision,  but  with  Grace  she  made  a  serious 
remonstrance. 

"  Do  you  think,  Gracie,"  she  said,  "  that  I  do  not 
see  what  makes  you  run  away  from  me  in  this 
unceremonious  way  ?  But  depend  upon  it,  Miss 
Lavinia's  is  the  true  independence.  She  depends 
on  God,  and  takes  all  He  sends  quite  simply,  no 
matter  through  whose  hand  it  comes.  He  might 
so  easily,  if  it  had  seemed  good  to  Him,  have  made 
your  father  owner  of  Combe,  and  of  a  hundred 
Combes,  and  me  a  helpless,  blind  old  creature  ;  and 
would  you  have  called  it  humility  if  I  had  refused 
to  allow  you  to  help  and  cheer  me,  as  you  would 
have  Gracie,  only  ten  thousand  times  better  and 
more  sweetly  than  I  ever  can — poor  blundering  old 
woman  that  I  am  ?" 

"  Please  do  not  misunderstand  us,  Lady  Katha- 
rine," said  Grace.  "  If  my  father  could  do  nothing 
for  us,  and  we  could  do  nothing  for  him,  I  would 


4zo  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

• 
be  as  glad  and  as  grateful  to  take  our  daily  bread 

from  you,  as  if  it  were  manna  straight  from  Hea- 
ven ;  and  more  glad,  I  think,  because  your  hand 
would  be  so  much  nicer  than  the  clouds  or  the 
ravens ;  and  it  would  be  sweet  to  have  to  be  grate- 
ful to%you  as  well  as  to  God.  But  father  can  preach, 
thank  God ;  and  if  he  could  not,  I  can  paint.  And 
I  cannot,  indeed  I  never  can,  give  up  the  joy  of 
helping  him  to  any  one  on  earth.  I  don't  think 
God  would  ever  command  it.  And  besides,  by-and- 
by,  I  am  sure  it  will  be  so  much  better  for  Harry. 
And  it  was  you,  dear  Lady  Katharine,  who  had  me 
taught  to  paint,  so  it  is  all  really  from  you  after  all." 

Lady  Katharine  was  vanquished. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  Gracie,  there  never  would 
have  been  any  fairy  tales  with  such  unmanageable 
Cinderellas  as  you.  So  you  must  go  your  own  will- 
ful way.  And  God  bless  you  after  all.  For  after 
all  life  is  not  a  fairy  tale,  and  a  fairy  godmother's 
providence  is  a  very  poor  thing  compared  with 
God's." 

The  only  concession  Lady  Katharine  could  obtain 
was  one  more  week's  sojourn,  in  order  to  make  the 
Miss  Lovels  feel  more  at  home ;  to  initiate  them 
into  the  mysteries  of  drying  sea-weeds,  construct- 
ing aquariums,  and  to  guide  them  to  all  the  walks 
accessible,  as  Miss  Betsy  phrased  it,  to  the  blind 
and  the  lame. 

"  I  am  very  happy  here,  Grace,  my  dear,"  said 
Miss  Betsy  as  she  wished  Grace  good-bye.  "At 
least  I  am  sure  I  ought  to  be.  The  air  seems  doing 
Lavinia  so  much  good.  It  seems  as  if,  after  all, 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  421 

she  might  prove  to  be  the  strong  one.  And  when 
once  more  I  can  see  and  she  can  walk,  we  may  do 
wonders  again  with  the  Academy.  For  this  is  only 
a  holiday,  you  know,  Grace  my  dear.  And  it 
would  be  no  holiday  to  me,  I  must  confess,  if  I  did 
not  look  forward  to  working  again  when  it  is  over. 
I  hope  Lady  Katharine  quite  understands  that,  my 
dear.  And  besides,"  she  added  confidentially,  "  I 
wouldn't  tell  Lady  Katharine  or  Lavinia  for  the 
world.  But  I  do  rather  miss  the  streets ;  the  sound 
of  the  wheels,  and  the  cries,  and  going  to  Mrs.  Tre- 
herne's,  and  the  baker's,  and  the  butcher's,  and 
managing  everything.  You  see  I  am  not  poetical, 
Grace,  my  dear ;  and  it  does  seem  to  me  rather  too 
much  like  a  churchyard  here  ;  too  much  like  always 
Sunday.  Of  course,  my  dear,  I  like  Sunday  in  its 
place,  once  a  week.  But  there  seems  too  little  dif- 
ference. And  I  do  miss  your  father's  afternoon 
sermons  and  his  reading  the  service.  And  then  I 
knew  the  people  and  the  places,  and  the  people 
knew  me.  And  here  no  one  knows  anything  about  us. 
We  seem  dropped  in  among  them  like  a  stray 
chapter  of  a  story-book.  And  I  do  feel  a  little,  too, 
as  if  they  thought  themselves  wiser.  A  little  lad 
quite  laughed  at  Lavinia  the  other  day,  for  asking 
what  a  field  of  turnips  was.  The  very  babies  here 
know  more  about  such  things  than  we  do.  And  of 
course  they  can't  understand  how  much  more  we 
know  about  other  things,  about  the  city,  St. 
Paul's,  and  Westminster  Abbey,  and  tii^  shops,.and 
the  Pinnock's  Goldsmiths  and  the  painting  on  velvet. 
So  that  we  must  seem  like  two  old  simpletons  to 
36 


422  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

them.  And  that's  humiliating.  For  things  do  look 
so  different  in  the  fields  and  in  the  shop-windows. 
But  don't  say  a  word  about  this,  Grace,  iny  dear.  I 
am  sure  Lady  Katharine  and  every  one  is  kindness 
itself,  and  I  am  very  happy.  Or  Lavinia  is,  and  if 
I  am  not  it  is  my  own  fault.  Only  a  little  as  if  I 
had  been  dead  and  buried,  and  had  risen  up  again 
somewhere  else,  I  didn't  quite  know  where.  Not 
the  real  resurrection,  you  understand  Grace,  my 
dear  ;  of  course,  that  will  be  in  heaven,  and  I  trust 
we  shall  all  know  where  we  are,  and  feel  at  home 
there.  At  least  after  a  time.  But  we've  got  a 
great  deal  to  go  through,  before  that,  my  dear. 
And  don't  be  anxious  about  Mr.  Leigh,  Grace,  my 
dear ;  not  that  it  was  the  resurrection  that  made  me 
think  of  him.  His  voice  is  quite  strong  again ;  and 
he  looks  so  much  better,  only  a  little  flushed  some- 
times. And  be  sure,  Grace,  my  dear,  you  give 
him  the  mixture  whenever  he  coughs.  I  have  made 
some  in  a  large  bottle,  I  hope  you'll  find  room  for  it." 

And  with  kisses  and  ill-suppressed  sobs,  mingled 
with  assurances  of  being  very  happy,  Miss  Betsy 
wished  Grace  good-bye. 

But  while  she  was  settling  the  traditional  bottle 
of  cough-mixture,  Miss  Lavinia  said  her  farewell  in 
far  fewer  words. 

"  Grace,  darling,"  she  said  "  we  shall  pray  for  you 
night  and  day.  Here  are  too  little  shell  pincush- 
ions for  little  Fan,  and  for  the  poor  little  maid  of 
all  work  at  our  old  lodgings.  Mr.  Treherne  prom- 
ised to  look  after  her.  Betsy  and  I  are  very  grate- 
ful to  God  and  to  Lady  Katharine,  more  than  we 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  423 

can  ever  say.  And  I  do  trust  it  will  be  given  to 
Betsy  to  see  again,  and  to  me  to  get  stronger,  and 
then  to  come  back  and  live  near  you  in  the  old 
place,  darling."  But  there  Miss  Lavinia's  voice 
broke  down,  and  she  only  added,  after  a  pause, 
"  One.  by  one,  Grace,  He  leads  us,  and  day  by  day." 
Thus  it  was  evident  that  the  dreary  lodgings  in 
the  dingy  streets  of  the  east  of  London  had  been 
glorified  into  a  home  of  fond  memories  and  hopes 
to  these  sisters — a  home  of  toil  and  of  aifection, 
which  no  lt  paradise"  of  hills  and  woods  and  gar- 
dens could  replace  in  their  hearts.  In  so  many 
senses  besides  the  highest,  the  things  which  are 
seen  are  temporal,  and  the  things  which  are  not 
seen  are  eternal. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Treherne,"  said  Grace,  the  morning 
after  their  return,  when  the  good  landlady  was  evi- 
dently lingering  for  a  gossip,  as  she  removed  the 
breakfast  things,  "  don't  you  think  the  country  has 
done  wonders  for  us  all  ?" 

"  Master  Harry  do  look  as  hearty  as  a  sea-captain, 
and  you  Miss  Grace  as  rosy  as  a  peach.  And  Mr. 
Leigh  can  speak  above  a  whisper  again.  He  cer- 
tainly can.  And  that  is  something." 

"  My  father  says  he  feels  up  to  anything,"  said 
Grace. 

"  No  doubt  he  do,  poor  gentleman"  was  the  reply ; 
"  that's  just  what  I  should  expect,  Miss  Grace." 

"  Don't  you  really  think  him  looking  better,  Mrs. 
Treherne  ?"  said  Grace,  anxiously.  | 

"  Well,  I  can't  be  a  hypocrite,  Miss  Grace,  to  save 


424  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

my  life.     And  it  wouldn't  be  doing  fairly  by  you 
if  I  was  to  be." 

"  I  had  much  rather  you  would  say  what  yon 
think,  Mrs.  Treherne.  I  do  so  want  always  to 
know  the  truth.  But  I  did  think  he  was  really 
stronger.  What  do  you  see  in  him  that  makes  you 
think  not  ?" 

"  Well  Miss  Grace,  I  am  no  doctor,  and  I  never 
set  up  for  any  such  thing.  But  to  my  mind,  Mr. 
Leigh  has  a  scooped-out  life  look  in  his  face,  and 
something  hollow  and  scooped-out  in  his  voice,  and 
a  kind  of  stoop." 

"  My  father  is  so  tall  and  thin,  Mrs.  Treherne, 
and  being  so  near-sighted,  you  know  he  always  did 
stoop,"  said  Grace,  eagerly. 

"  Very  true  Miss  Grace,  my  dear.  I'd  rather  you 
wouldn't  ask  me.  I'm  no  doctor,  as  I  said,  and  no 
prophet ;  and  after  all,  as  Caleb  Treherne  says,  it's 
blasphemy  to  doubt  what  the  Almighty  can  do." 

And  beyond  that  Mrs.  Treherne  would  not  go 
with  Grace.  But  with  her  husband  she  was  far 
more  definite. 

"  All  right,  Caleb  Treherne,"  she  said,  repeating 
his  words  with  scornful  emphasis."  Poor  dear  Mr. 
Leigh's  voice  all  right !  That  shows  what  men's 
ears  are  worth,  the  best  of  them.  No  need  for 
those  trumpets  and  machines,  if  it  had  been  the 
Almighty's  will  that  women  should  have  been  the 
doctors  !  Why  Mr.  Leigh's  voice  tells  as  plain  a 
tale  as  though  you  struck  a  spoon  on  mother's  best 
china  sugar-basin,  that  Fan  cracked  the  first  month 
she  came." 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


425 


"  Don't  say  too  much  about  it  to  Miss  Grace," 
said  Caleb,  compassionately.  "  They  say  the  best 
doctors  are  deceived  sometimes.  So  even  you  might 
be  wrong." 

"  They  may  be,"  retorted  Mrs.  Treherne,  solemn- 
ly, "  attending  to  their  instruments  and  inventions 
instead  of  to  their  senses,  and  to  God's  natural 
signs !  And  as  to  Miss  Grace,  do  you  think  no 
body  but  yourself,  Caleb  Treherne,  have  got  a 
heart  for  her,  poor  lamb  ?  Of  course  if  she  asks, 
I'm  not  going  to  demean  myself  to  tell  a  lie.  But 
beyond  that  no  one  with  a  natural  woman's  heart 
need  to  go.  Poor  innocent !  There's  enough  be- 
fore her,  without  my  hurrying  her  to  find  things 
out,"  concluded  Mrs.  Treherne,  believing  that  the 
vague  consolatory  words  with  which  she  had  closed 
the  conversation  had  quite  lulled  Grace's  fears. 

But  Grace  was  not  given  to  quelling  fears  by 
closing  doors  and  shutting  them  in.  Her  way  was 
rather  to  take  the  light  and  explore  every  corner  of 
the  dark  chambers,  light  and  fresh  air  being  the 
great  elements  of  the  materia  medica,  mental,  moral 
or  physical,  known  to  Grace. 

But  into  the  darkness  of  these  fears  she  had  no 
light  which  could  penetrate.  The  longer  she  gazed 
and  tried  to  see  into  it,  the  darker  this  darkness 
grew.  She  who  had  always  so  tried  and  prayed  to 
know  the  truth  about  everything,  -could  she  after 
all  have  been  deceiving  herself?  Were  she  and 
Harry  really  too  much  bound  up  with  this  peril  to 
comprehend  it  ?  She  wished  Mr.  Bertram  could 
return,  and  tell  her  what  he  thought.  His  words 
36* 


426  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

and  looks  were  always  truth  itself.  She  wondered 
when  he  would  return.  Her  thoughts  recurred  to 
his  parable  of  the  vine  entwined  around  the  ruin. 
How  much  had  fallen  into  the  ruin  since  he  told  it ! 
all  her  dreams  about  Harry  and  his  parish ;  all  the 
plans  she  had  felt  so  strong  to  carry  out  for  the 
support  of  the  Miss  Lovels.  She  had  certainly 
proved  plainly  enough  that  she  was  not  the  stay  of 
the  temple  ;  but  if  not  the  roof  merely,  but  the  very 
pillar  around  which  the  vine  had  entwined  itself 
were  to  fall,  what  would  become  of  the  vine  then  ? 
Would  the  leaves  lie  trailing,  withered,  on  the 
ground,  and  the  grapes  shrivel  as  they  lay  ? 

Maurice's  parable  led  her  thoughts  to  another 
parable  of  a  sacred  Vine.  "  Not  a  vine,"  she  thought, 
"  but  The  Vine,  the  true  Vine.  That  Vine  t*  the 
stay  and  pillar  of  heaven  and  earth.  I  am  not  a  vine 
at  all,  only  a  branch ;  I  and  Father  and  Mr.  Bertram 
and  all  of  us.  The  fruit  of  that  Vine  never  fails. 
Only,  if  one  branch  begins  to  set  itself  up  as  the 
Vine,  then  not  the  fruit  only,  but  the  branch  itself 
withers.  Oh  how  happy,"  she  concluded,  "  and  how 
strong  it  makes  one  to  know  one  is  not  a  wretched 
little  isolated  independent  plant,  but  a  branch — a 
branch  in  the  true  Vine.  I  wonder  if  it  is  to  find 
out  more  what  this  means,  that  we  are  allowed  to 
droop  and  be  disappointed.  I  wonder  if  the  dis- 
appointments are  the  pruning,  and  if  the  husband- 
man has  indeed  been  pruning  me,  and  not  only  me 
but  Father  and  Miss  Lavinia  and  poor  Dan  and  all 
of  us.  N  ot  only  not  a  pillar  of  the  temple,  but  not  a 
vine,  but  only  a  branch  !  And  the  Vine  is  so  strong 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  427 

and  full  of  life.  I  will  tell  Mr.  Bertram  when  he 
comes  back  how  happy  it  makes  me  to  think  of  this.'' 
Thus,  although  Grace  saw  no  clearing  in  the  dark 
forest  of  anxieties  Mrs.  Treherne  had  conjured  up,  her 
heart  was  lightened  by  this  conviction,  as  by  a 
breath  of  fresh  air  from  heaven.  And  then  she  re- 
membered how  Mrs.  Treherne  had  had  presentiments 
long  ago,  which  had  not  come  true.  She  recalled 
that  snowy  night  so  very  long  ago,  when  terrified 
out  of  all  minor  terrors  by  prognostications  of  Mrs. 
Treherne' s,  scarcely  less  terrible  than  these,  she  had 
crept  through  the  snow  to  ask  Mr.  Bertram  to  take 
her  father's  duty.  And  then  she  fell  into  a  long 
musing  as  to  how  much  more  difficult  it  would  be 
to  do  such  a  thing  now,  although  they  all  knew  Mr. 
Bertram  so  much  better,  and  had  proved  his  kind- 
ness so  often.  Why  was  this?  Had  she  grown 
more  conventional  and  worldly,  or  less  brave  ?  One 
thing,  however,  she  could  do.  She  could  go  and 
ask  her  old  friend  Mrs.  Anderson  what  she  thought 
of  Mr.  Leigh.  On  Mrs.  Anderson's  judgment  she 
could  always  rely.  But  to  her  dismay,  when  she  en- 
tered the  well-known  baker's  shop,  a  spruce  strange 
man  stood  behind  the  counter,  most  anxious  to  oblige 
his  supposed  customer,  but  whose  countenance 
fell  when  he  found  she  had  only  come  to  inquire  for 
her  old  friend.  The  old  gentleman  was  dead,  he 
said,  and  he  had  bought  the  goodwill,  and  very 
little  he  found  it  worth,  and  the  old  lady  had  been 
gone  these  ten  days,  bag  and  baggage ;  but  where,  it 
was  not  for  him  to  say.  The  business  was  now  his, 
and  was  to  be  conducted  on  the  newest  and  most 


428  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

accomodating  principles,  as  she  would  see  from  the 
card  which  he  handed  her. 

"  Mrs.  Anderson,  Miss  Grace,"  explained  Mrs. 
Treherne  on  Grace's  return  ;  "  she  is  gone  to  nurse 
that  poor  fussy  lady,  Mrs.  Dee,  and  I  wish  her  joy 
of  her  work.  She  hurt  herself,  poor  lady,  by  slip- 
ping in  her  hurrisome  way  on  a  bit  of  orange-peel ; 
and  they  do  say  she  is  as  peevish  and  helpless  as  a 
child,  and  that  no  one  could  keep  her  quiet,  till  Mrs. 
Anderson  went  to  her." 

Grace  went  up  stairs  to  her  solitary  room,  and 
felt  rather  desolate.  Every  one  seemed  gone :  Mr. 
Bertram,  the  Miss  Lovels,  and  now  Mrs.  Anderson. 
But  she  was  too  busy  to  brood  over  troubles ;  and 
taking  out  her  portfolio  of  sketches  made  at  Combe, 
she  sat  down  to  group  some  scattered  blossoms  and 
tufts  of  moss  into  a  picture,  and  was  contentedly 
humming  to  an  improvised  chant  Miss  Lavinia's 
farewell  words,  "  One  by  one,  and  day  by  day"  over 
and  over  again,  in  rather  a  Bedouin  fashion,  when  a 
carriage  stopped  at  the  door,  a  ringing  voice  filled 
the  house  with  life  and  music,  and  Winnie,  rushing 
into  the  room,  overwhelmed  her  with  kisses,  exclaim- 
ing "  Maurice,  Gracie  !  Maurice  has  come,  never  to 
go  away  again.  Are  you  not,  Maurice  ?"  she  con- 
tinued, turning  to  her  brother  as  he  followed 
her.  "  And  he  is  glad  to  come  back,  Gracie.  He 
doesn't  care  for  all  those  beautiful  places,  nor  for  a 
creature  he  has  seen  a  thousandth  part  as  much  as 
he  does  for  his  poor  old  parish,  and  for  us.  Noth- 
ing like  it,  Maurice,  do  you?  Didn't  you  say  so? 
For  us  and  Mr.  Leigh  and  Grace  and  all  of  us.  And 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  429 

please,  Grace,  if  you  think  Mr.  Leigh  would  like  it, 
Maurice  said  we  might  send  away  the  carriage  and 
stay  to  tea." 

"  A  dangerous  confidant,  "Winnie,"  said  Maurice. 
But  they  stayed. 

Grace  had  so  many  things  about  which  she  wish- 
ed to  consult  Mr.  Bertram,  that  now  he  was  actually 
there  she  had  not  the  least  idea  where  to  begin.  And 
Maurice  himself  seemed  still  more  spellbound  and 
silent.  He  stood  and  turned  over  her  drawings 
rather  absently,  Grace  thought,  and  at  length  he 
said,  as  if  to  himself: 

"  The  same  touch ;  but  what  a  difference.  These 
flowers  seem  to  have  come  forth  from  their  de- 
tached dreamy  child-life  into  the  large  world,  and  to 
have  begun  their  life-story.  The  lilies  are  floating  on 
the  stream.  This  little  moss  is  tenderly  cushioning  a 
child's  grave.  This  blue  gentian  is  finding  or  mak- 
ing a  rest  and  home  even  among  the  snows.  This 
little  redbreast,  plucking  the  red  berries  from  the 
snow-covered  twig  of  thorn,  does  not  need  to  have 
4  Consider  the  fowls  of  the  air '  written  underneath. 
These  are  not  flower-paintings  only.  They  are 
poems." 

"  I  meant  them  to  be  a  kind  of  illuminated  texts, 
or  hymns,"  said  Grace. 

"  Are  they  not  beautiful  ?"  said  Winnie,  eagerly. 
"  Is  not  our  Gracie  really  a  genius  now,  Maurice  ?" 

"  But  why  are  so  many  of  them  about  snow  and 
winter  ?"  he  asked. 

"  It  was  winter,"  said  Grace ;  "  and  then  so  many 
wintry  things  were  happening,"  she  added,  softly. 


430  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

Miss  Betsy  Level's  blindness,  and  Harry  not  being  a 
clergyman,  and  my  father's  voice — " 

He  looked  at  her  anxiously. 

"  I  know,"  he  said,  sadly,  "  too  much  of  human 
life  has  passed  into  the  life  of  these  flowers." 

"You  know  about  Miss  Betsy,  then,  and  Harry," 
she  said,  very  glad  not  to  have  to  explain. 

"  I  don't  think  it  so  very  wintry  about  Harry,"  he 
said,  half  smiling. 

"  But  have  you  seen  my  father  ?  "  Grace  asked, 
timidly. 

"  Only  for  a  minute  or  two.  Mr.  Leigh  was  going 
to  the  workhouse,  but  he  would  be  at  home,  he  said, 
in  less  than  an  hour." 

"  Of  course,  then,  you  cannot  understand  whether 
he  is  looking  better  or  not.  Besides,"  she  added 
(forearming  herself,  as  she  had  grown  so  used  to  do 
against  adverse  judgments),  "  you  did  not  see  him 
when  he  was  really  ill." 

He  did  not  speak.  He  comprehended  her  mean- 
ing but  too  well. 

"  You  did  not  think  him  looking  really  ill  ?  "  she 
said,  with  a  trembling  voice.  "  I  know  you  cannot 
tell  me  anything  but  the  truth." 

"  I  thought  Mr.  Leigh  looked  older.  But  we  all 
are  that.  Only  not  exactly  in  the  same  way." 

Just  then  a  slow  step  was  heard  on  the  stairs  and 
Mr.  Leigh  entered,  flushed  and  tired,  and  so  put  an 
end  to  the  conversation. 

'  "  Do  you  think  Mr.  Leigh  looking  very  ill,  Mau- 
rice ? "  said  Winnie,  as  they  drove  home  together, 
"  he  seemed  so  bright  and  full  of  life  to-night." 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  43, 

"  A  little  too  bright,  I  am  afraid,"  said  Maurice, 
gravely. 

"  But  is  not  our  Gracie  the  very  same,  dear  dar- 
ling, gentle,  determined,  beautiful,  sweet,  happy 
Grace  as  ever  ?  " 

"  The  same,  yet  very  different,  I  think,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  of  course.  The  very  same,  only  a  thousand 
times  better,  as  she  will  always  go  on  being  for 
ever,"  said  Winnie,  involving  herself  in  great 
arithmetical  difficulties. 

"  I  did  not  say  better,  but  different,  Winnie," 
said  Maurice.  "  Sometimes  it  seemed  as  if  I  must 
have  known  her  before  we  were  born,  in  some  other 
life,  I  seemed  to  know  so  strangely  what  she  meant 
to  say.  And  sometimes,  it  seemed  as  if  I  had  never 
seen  her  before  this  evening.  She  seemed  so  new 
and  so  far  off,  and  so  different  from  what  she  was, 
and  yet  from  every  one  else  in  the  world." 

"Different  from  every  one  else  in  the  world;  I 
should  think  Grace  was,  Maurice,"  said  Winnie,  not 
altogether  satisfied  with  his  appreciation  of  her 
friend,  and  not  a  little  perplexed  as  to  whether  he 
had  brought  home  any  strange  Oriental  idea  about 
the  transmigration  of  souls.  "  Different  from  what 
she  was  !  I  cannot  think  what  you  mean,  Maurice ; 
I  am  sure  she  is  always  the  very  same  true,  dear, 
affectionate  Grace  to  me.  And  I  thought  she  was 
quite  the  same  to  you.  Only  a  little  quieter,  be- 
cause you  had  both  so  much  more  to  say,  of  course, 
than  you  could  say.  And  that  always  makes 
people  quiet." 

"  I  suppose  it  does,"  said  Maurice  laughing,  "  but 


432 


WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 


you  learned  that,  I  presume,  little  sister,  rather 
from  observation  than  from  experience." 

"From  both,"  replied  Winnie,  sententiously. 
"All  that  first  evening  after  you  came  home,  I 
could  do  nothing  but  sit  quite  silent  and  look  at 
you,  don't  you  remember  ?  And  that  is  the  reason 
why  I  have  had  such  a  quantity  to  say  ever  since. 
And  so  you  will  find  it  is  with  Grace,  when  once 
she  begins." 

"  Shall  I  ?  "  he  said  demurely.  "  And  when  do 
you  think  that  will  be  ?  " 

"  That  depends,  as  Rosalie  says,"  replied  Winnie. 
Whereupon  she  plunged  into  a  series  of  domes- 
tic narratives,  and  problems  in  the  science  of  life, 
which  occupied  her  entirely  until  they  reached  the 
Cedars. 

Lady  Katharine,  on  the  other  hand,  wrote  to  say 
she  had  always  thought  of  it,  and  had  had  much 
difficulty  in  preventing  herself  from  spoiling  every- 
thing by  taking  on  herself  that  role  of  fairy-god- 
mother, in  which  it  was  evident  she  succeeded  so 
badly. 

But  the  immediate  change  in  Grace  Leigh's  life 
was,  simply,  that  there  were  three  instead  of  two  to 
watch  beside  her  father's  sick  bed. 

For  the  slow  downward  steps  of  decline  went 
steadily  on.  But  steadily  as  the  feeble  steps  went 
downwards,  the  spirit  seemed  to  rise. 

In  that  sick  room  there  prevailed  always  a  sacred 
joyous  calm,  like  a  Saturday  afternoon  holiday, 
when  the  work  of  the  week  is  done,  and  its  traffic 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  433 

is  over,  and  its  cares  are  laid  aside,  and  the  next 
morning  is  to  bring  the  Day  of  Rest,  and  Festival, 
and  Worship,  of  church-bells  and  church  music  ;  the 
first  day  of  the  new  life. 

"  I  wish  I  could  shake  hands  with  Cousin  Felix 
once  more,"  he  said  one  morning  to  Grace.  "  Has 
little  Maud  written  to  say  how  he  is  to-day?" 

"  She  says  two  doctors  come  now,  father,  instead 
of  one  ;  and  they  say  the  attack  might  pass  off,  with 
care  and  quiet,  but  that  Mr.  Hunter  is  a  difficult 
patient  to  treat.  He  has  so  many  things  to  manage, 
Maud  says,  and  he  will  see  so  many  people  on 
business.  He  is  sure  there  are  so  many  things  no 
one  can  conduct  successfully  but  himself." 

"Ah!  Gracie,"  said  Mr.  Leigh,  "you  see  the 
most  successful  life  must  leave  many  things  unfin- 
ished at  last,  as  well  as  the  least  successful,  perhaps 
more.  It  is  well,  perhaps,  after  all,  not  to  have 
too  many  things  to  arrange  and  set  in  order  at 
last." 

"  There  is  a  difference,  is  there  not,"  said  Maurice, 
who  had  just  entered  the  room,  "  between  one  kind 
of  unfinished  work  and  another  ?  There  are  some 
unfinished  things  which  are  beginnings  and  not 
broken  endings,  and  which  will  be  finished  by-and- 
bye." 

"  I  believe  so,"  said  Mr.  Leigh,  with  a  tranquil 
smile.  "And  there  are  also  things  which  it  is 
happy  to  think  will  be  better  finished  by  those 
who  follow  us,  than  they  were  begun." 

For  at  this  time  there  was  a  sick  room  in  the 
37 


434  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

great  house  in  Bedford  Square,  as  well  as  in  the 
poor  lodgings  in  the  East  of  London. 

A  poor  irritable  invalid  lay  there  in  a  darkened 
chamber,  vainly  striving  to  contend  with  disease  as 
he  had  so  long  successfully  contended  with  other  diffi- 
culties in  his  life.  Doctor  after  doctor  had  been  con- 
sulted and  dismissed.  Mr.  Hunter  only  wished  he  had 
been  a  medical  man  himself,  and  he  would  not  have 
been  baffled  by  such  a  trifling  attack  as  this.  Servants 
and  children  alike  dreaded  the  impatient  dissatis- 
faction of  the  invalid  with  everything  that  was  done 
for  him.  Indeed,  one  child  after  another  discovered 
various  reasons,  unanswerable  to  themselves,  for  not 
troubling  themselves  with  much  of  the  old  man's 
company.  Plainly  it  did  him  no  good,  they  said, 
and  gave  him  no  pleasure  to  see  them.  The  sons 
and  daughters,  therefore,  concluded  they  were 
rendering  him  the  greatest  service  by  doing  what 
he  had  always  told  them  to  do,  as  the  first  end  of 
life,  namely,  to  look  after  their  own  affairs.  The 
sons  went  to  their  business  or  their  amusements, 
and  the  daughters  frequently  spent  much  of  their 
time  at  the  houses  of  various  friends.  It  was  their 
duty,  they  said,  to  keep  the  house  quiet  for  poor 
dear  papa,  therefore  they  could  not  entertain  at 
home,  and  at  the  same  time,  it  would,  evidently,  be 
contrary  to  all  his  maxims  to  allow  themselves  to 
drop  out  of  sight  and  be  forgotten.  Mrs.  Felix 
Hunter,  meanwhile,  was  much  occupied  in  furnish- 
ing the  new  house  in  Belgravia.  An  occupation, 
she  observed,  naturally  very  uncongenial  to  her 
under  the  circumstances,  but  she  had  never  been  in 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  435 

the  habit  of  yielding  to  her  own  feelings,  and  dear 
Mr.  Hunter  was  so  particular  about  having  every- 
thing in  the  first  style,  that  she  could  not  answer  it 
to  her  conscience  to  leave  these  things  to  trades- 
men, especially  as  all  the  medical  men  agreed  that 
quiet  was  the  one  essential  for  Mr.  Hunter;  and 
Maud,  poor  child,  was  always  ready  to  remain  with 
him.  It  was  in  fact  quite  an  occupation  for  Maud, 
and  besides,  Mr.  Hunter  liked  the  room  so  hot,  and 
want  of  air,  unhappily,  was  the  one  thing  she  could 
not  stand,  and,  happily,  Maud  did  not  in  the  least 
suffer  from  it.  So  that  every  thing  really  seemed  to 
fit  in  remarkably. 

Thus  it  happened  that  Maud's  little^  chair  was 
wheeled  continually  near  her  father's  bed  or  sofa ; 
and  she  read  to  him  newspapers  and  novels  nearly 
all  day-  long,  content  with  the  reward  of  being 
allowed  to  read  a  chapter  in  the  Bible,  or  a  hymn, 
morning  and  evening. 

At  first  it  frightened  her  very  much  to  read  aloud 
to  her  father ;  and  Mr.  Hunter  did  not  increase  her 
courage  by  his  frequent  disadvantageous  compari- 
sons between  her  reading  and  her  sister's,  and  his 
continual  complaints  that  the  newspapers  were  all 
humbug,  and  the  novels  all  trash. 

But  Maud  being  quite  acquiescent  in  any  amount 
of  depreciation  of  herself,  and  moreover  feeling 
sure  that  in  this  particular  instance  she  had  the  one 
vocation  to  her  work  which  she  was  persuaded  was 
the  only  vocation  she  could  ever  have  to  any  work, 
namely,  that  there  was  no  one  else  to  do  it,  gradu- 
ally grew  bolder.  And  gradually  Mr.  Hunter  grew 


436  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

accustomed  to  her  voice ;  and  although  he  never  in-' 
dulged  in  the  extravagance  of  praise  or  thanks,  his 
complaints  became  fewer,  until  Maud's  chief  per- 
plexity grew  to  be  that  he  did  not  like  to  spare  her 
an  hour  from  his  side. 

"What  have  you  been  doing  child?"  he  said, 
fretfully,  one  day.  "I  thought  you  were  never 
coming  back,  like  the  rest." 

"  I  was  only  writing  a  little  note  to  Grace  Leigh, 
papa." 

"  You  are  always  writing  little  notes  to  Grace 
Leigh.  I  can't  think  what  you  see  in  those  Leighs, 
I  am  sure."  Then  after  a  pause :  "  Does  Grace 
Leigh  write  to  you  ?  What  can  she  find  to  say  ?  " 

"  She  says  to-day,  papa,"  replied  Maud,  eagerly 
seizing  the  opportunity,  "  that  Mr..  Leigh  thinks  so 
much  about  you,  and  wants  to  know  how  you 
are?" 

"  I  am  sure  I  am  much  obliged  to  Mr.  Leigh," 
was  the  grim  reply.  "  I  suppose  he  has  not  much 
else  to  think  of,  that  he  should  be  so  concerned 
about  me." 

"  May  I  send  your  kind  remembrances,"  perse- 
vered Maud,  "  and  say  you  hope  Mr.  Leigh  is 
better?" 

"What  is  the  use?  Mr.  Leigh  will  never  be 
better.  And  as  to  me,  if  you  want  to  say  any- 
thing, you  had  better  say  that  if  there  were  a 
doctor  worth  his  salt  in  the  kingdom,  I  should  have 
been  as  well  as  ever  weeks  ago." 

Nevertheless,  after  this,  a  link  seemed  to  spring 
up  between  the  invalids.  Mr.  Hunter  frequently 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  437 

asked,  although  in  rather  an  ungracious  way,  how 
Mr.  L^igh  was.  And  then  came  a  few  words  from 
Mr.  Leigh  expressive  of  the  faith  and  hope  which 
sustained  him,  and  which  he  trusted  would  also 
sustain  Mr.  Hunter. 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  sustained,"  said  Mr.  Hunter 
fiercely,  when  Maud  gave  this  message.  "  What 
does  he  mean  ?  He  speaks  as  if  I  were  dying,  like 
himself.  Tell  him  I  expect  to  go  to  Deerham  Park, 
and  get  my  new  steam  plough  to  work  in  a  week 
or  two.  And  don't  go  and  put  in  any  texts,  child, 
I  can't  endure  cant." 

Yet  his  thoughts  seemed  to  revert,  beyond  his 
own  control,  to  Mr.  Leigh's  sick-bed.  And  one 
evening  he  said,  bitterly,  when  he  had  expressed  a 
wish  that  his  daughter  Alicia  would  come  and  read 
to  him,  and  had  been  told  that  she  was  so  sorry,  but 
Lady  de  Wint  had  reserved  a  seat  expressly  for 
Alicia  that  very  evening  in  her  opera-box,  and 
Alicia  was  sure  Mr.  Hunter  would  not  like  Lady  de 
Wint  to  be  neglected : 

"  I  suppose  Grace  Leigh  would  think  it  more  im- 
portant not  to  neglect  her  sick  father."  And  then 
suddenly  looking  at  Maud  with  a  most  unusual 
tenderness,  he  added  :  "  Poor  little  Maud.  It  is  a 
good  thing,  perhaps,  after  all,  to  have  one  little 
girl  whose  life  hasn't  been  such  a  success  as  to 
make  her  feel  her  father's  sick-room  a  prison  to 
escape  from  whenever  she  can." 

Maud  tried  to  defend  her  sisters,  but  he  replied 
with  an  indescribable  bitterness :  "  Nonsense,  child ; 
you  know  nothing  about  it.  They  are  a  set  of  self- 
37* 


43  8  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

seeking  worldly  girls.  And  I  have  made  them  so. 
I  have  spent  my  life  in  making  them  so."  « 

After  this,  Mr.  Hunter  seemed  to  make  less  effort 
to  conceal  his  interest  in  Mr.  Leigh.  » 

He  grew  to  receive  the  messages  of  Christian 
faith  and  love  which  came  from  the  dying  curate's 
sick-bed  with  undisguised  pleasure,  and  even  to  ask 
anxiously  for  a  letter  when  none  arrived.  And 
once  he  sent  a  message  to  say  he  should  like  to  see 
Grace  if  she  could  spare  him  an  hour.  Yet  when 
she  came,  he  seemed  to  have  little  to  say  to  her  ex- 
cept a  few  broken  inquiries  and  vague  good  wishes, 
until  she  rose  to  leave,  when  he  said :  "  You  are  a 
good,  affectionate  child,  Grace,  and  so  is  this  little 
Maud.  God  will  reward  you  both.  He  knows 
best  how.  Our  rewards  are  very  poor.  Tell  your 
father,  perhaps  his  life  has  been  the  success  and 
mine  the  failure,  after  all.  It  is  late  to  find  it  out. 
But  perhaps  not  too  late.  Maud  won't  hear  me 
say  too  late.  And  I  hope  she  may  be  right.  Be 
kind  to  Maud,  Grace  Leigh.  Be  kind  to  my  little 
Maud." 

And  the  feeble  hand  that  lay  in  Grace's,  too 
feeble  to  return  the  pressure  of  hers,  appealed  to 
her  with  irresistible  force  of  entreaty.  She  gave 
one  farewell  look  at  the  eyes  which  followed  her  so 
wistfully,  and  turned  silently  away,  praying  that 
she  might  never  more  disbelieve,  as  she  feared  she 
sometimes  had,  in  the  grace  of  God,  or  imagine 
there  was  an  impassable  gulf  between  the  best 
human  being  on  earth  and  the  worst. 

When  she  reported  this  interview  to  Mr.  Leigh, 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  439 

a  deep  and  joyful  awe  came  over  his  face,  like  the 
shadow  of  an  unseen  heavenly  presence.  For 
some  time  he  said  nothing.  And  then  at  intervals  : 

"  Children,  the  Holy  Catholic  Church  is  wider 
and  higher,  and  its  gate  more  open  than  we  any 
.of  us  imagine." 

Then: 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be  ungrateful  for  me  to  think 
I  took  the  wrong  turning,  after  all." 

And  afterwards  in  slow  broken  utterances,  like 
sacred  sentences  spoken  from  before  the  altar : 

"  I  have  been  thinking  of  our  last  sunset  at 
Combe,  and  how  like  that  close  of  day  was  to  the 
close  of  life.  The  clouds,  which  like  our  earthly 
trials,  throw  their  shadows  on  us  by  day,  become 
illuminated  like  the  white  robes  of  saints  floating 
in  the  glory  of  God.  Then  as  the  sun  sinks  further 
they  become,  not  merely  illuminated,  but  luminous 
torches  burning  in  the  deepening  blue  of  Heaven. 
Our  sorrows  are  not  only  lit  up  by  faith.  Of  the 
sorrow  itself  is  born  the  joy.  And  then  the  atmo- 
sphere of  earth  disappears  altogether  and  there  are 
the  stars.  Perfumes,  slumbering  since  the  dews  of 
dawn  were  dried,  breathe  out  again  from  the  cen- 
sers of  a  million  flowers.  It  is  dawn  once  more ; 
the  dawn  of  night  and  of  the  stars.  From  the  twi- 
light of  the  first  dawn  the  earth  shone  forth.  From 
this  twilight,  Heaven." 

And  not  many  weeks  afterwards,  within  a  week 
of  each  other,  two  funeral  processions  passed 
through  the  crowds  of  the  great  city.  One,  with 


440 


WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 


all  the  pomp  of  plumes  and  jet-black  horses,  mutes 
and  mourning  coaches,  and  empty  honorary  car- 
riages ;  and  within  the  house  daughters  divided 
between  filial  regrets  and  millinery  vexations,  and 
sons  returning  to  the  world  through  the  vexed 
channel  of  their  father's  will ;  and  one  little  crip- 
pled child,  creeping  into  her  dead  father's  empty 
room  alone,  to  kneel  down  and  weep  beside  the  bed 
she  had  so  faithfully  watched. 

The  other,  attended  by  only  one  mourning  coach, 
with  three  mourners  in  it,  but  met  at  the  grave 
among  the  fields  in  the  far-off  country,  by  poor, 
weeping  people,  with  scraps  of  incongruous  black 
studiously  added  to  their  poor,  patched,  colorless 
clothes,  who  had  started  early  in  the  morning  to 
pay  their  last  poor  tribute  of  love  and  honor  to  the 
friend  of  many  years. 

A  few  weeks  more  passed  away,  and  one  cold, 
bitter  day  in  a  late  spring,  Dan,  who  had  been 
watching  at  the  doorsteps  of  Maurice  Bertram's 
parsonage  in  the  responsible  capacity  of  parson's 
man,  announced  to  Fan,  who  had  been  watching  at 
the  pantry  window  in  the  equally  high  responsible 
capacity  of  housemaid,  that  Mrs.  O'Brien's  car- 
riage was  in  sight,  and  Fan  announced  the  same 
fact  to  Winnie  and  Harry  fluttering  around  the 
tea-table  in  the  library,  and  in  a  few  minutes  Mau- 
rice led  his  bride  over  the  threshold  of  their  home 
to  Winnie's  sisterly  embrace,  not,  indeed,  accord- 
ing to  Rosalie's  threat,  in  white  glace  and  Brussels 
point,  but  in  deep  mourning,  and  with  smiles  of 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  441 

welcome  mingled  with  many  irrepressible  though 
not  bitter  tears. 

Then,  after  Winifred  and  Mrs.  O'Brien  had  left, 
and  the  household  had  been  consecrated  by  the  first 
family  prayer,  and  Maurice  and  Grace  were  alone 
in  the  library,  he  opened  the  shutters,  and  they 
stood  together  looking  out  through  the  falling  snow 
over  the  white  streets,  to  the  white  roofs  and  win- 
dow-sills of  the  opposite  houses. 

"  My  dove  has  come  to  me  once  more,"  he  said, 
"  through  the  snow  !" 

And  Grace,  with  her  heart  full  of  sacred  memo- 
ries as  well  as  hopes,  replied : 

"  And  God  will  never  let  us  forget  that  we  are 
still  on  the  battlefield." 


CHAPTER  XII. 


I  HE  light  breeze  of  a  summer  morning 
was  occasionally  stirring  the  Venetian 
blinds  in  the  half-darkened  sick-room 
where  Mrs.  Dee,  during  the  last  ten 
weeks  had  been  learning  the  existence  and  mean- 
ing of  "  nerves,"  since  the  disastrous  morning  when 
in  hastily  crossing  the  pavement  from  her  carriage 
to  her  house,  her  foot  had  slipped  on  a  piece  of 
orange-peel,  and  she  had  sustained  one  of  those 
inexplicable  "jars"  which  prove  the  terrible  deli- 
cacy with  which  our  "  harp  of  thousand  strings " 
is  tuned. 

"  A  most  mysterious  dispensation,"  said  Mrs. 
Dee's  large  circle  of  admiring  friends  and  co-com- 
mittee ladies ;  "  such  an  invaluable  life,  spent  in 
such  incessant  and  self-denying  usefulness !  If  it 
had  been  a  railway  accident,  or  the  explo'sion  of  a 
powder-magazine,  one  would  not,  perhaps,  have 
wondered  so  much — but  a  scrap  of  orange-peel ! 
Such  a  mission  to  be  arrested  by  such  a  trifle  ! 
And  actually  in  the  very  prosecution  of  her  benevo- 

(442) 


WINIFRED  BERTRAM.  443 

lent  work;   for  she  was  returning  from  a  school 
committee." 

Mrs.  Dee's  acquaintance  felt  very  much  perplexed 
with  "  Providence "  indeed,  although  of  course 
they  were  too  polite  to  express  themselves  strongly 
on  the  subject. 

And  "  most  mysterious  "  Mrs.  Dee  herself  thought 
it.  Of  course  she  had  not  looked  for  her  reward  in 
this  life.  Who  would,  for  labors  such  as  hers  ? 
But  a  little  consideration  for  the  importance  of  such 
labors  as  hers  might  perhaps  have  been  expected. 
It  was  not,  even  (which  would  not  have  been  so 
surprising),  as  if  she  had  been  set  on  a  pedestal  of 
unprecedented  suffering,  as  before  on  a  pedestal  of 
unprecedented  usefulness  ;  as  if,  after  a  life  marvel- 
ously  displaying  all  the  active  virtues  of  an  exalted. 
Christian  character,  she  had  been  called  to  a  fiery 
trial  displaying  as  marvelously  all  its  passive  graces. 
Such  a  termination  might  have  been  comprehensible. 
What  is  a  martyrdom,  but  the  natural  close  of  an 
apostolate  ?  And  the  biographer  of  this  excellent 
and  lamented  lady,  this  "  saint  who  had  combined 
in  one  unparalleled  life  the  graces  of  a  Martha  and 
a  Mary,  the  gifts  of  a  Deborah  with  the  ministries 
of  a  Phoebe,  the  ministries  of  a  Pljrebe  with  the 
patience  of  a  Stephen,  and  who,  finally,  had  only 
escaped  the  translation  of  an  Enoch  or  an  Elijah 
by  the  anachronism  of  being  born  in  the  nineteenth 
century — if  indeed  such  a  death  could  be  called 
less  than  a  translation — "  might  have  added  another 
to  the  list  of  those  sinless  mortals  whose  histories 
perplex  tender  consciences  like  Mrs.  O'Brien,  and 


444  WINNIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

(according  to  Lady  Katharine),  render  entirely  su- 
perfluous any  Papal  sanction  to  the  doctrine  of  an 
Immaculate  Conception. 

The  triviality  of  the  orange-peel,  even,  need  not 
have  marred  this  climax.  It  might,  in  ingenious 
hands,  have  been  rendered  more  effective  than  the 
more  vulgar  and  sensational  incident  of  the  powder 
explosion.  The  explosion  might  immortalize  any 
insignificant  mortal  it  exploded.  But  Mrs.  Dee 
would  have  immortalized  the  orange-peel. 

No  such  glorification,  however,  was  in  store  for 
Mrs.  Dee  or  the  orange-peel.  If  her  sufferings  had 
only  been  on  a  scale  with  her  labors  she  felt  sure 
she  could  have  borne  them.  If  the  medical  men 
had  said  among  Mrs.  Dee's  friends,  "  the  sufferings 
of  that  exemplary  woman  are  unparalleled.  In  all 
the  course  of  our  medical  experience  we  have  not 
encountered  such  a  complication  of  injuries.  Any 
one  of  them  would  have  surpassed  ordinary  powers 
of  endurance"-;-  Mrs.  Dee  felt  sure  she  could  have 
borne  it.  But  there  she  lay,  feeling  every  noise 
and  movement  jar  through  her  as  if  she  had  been 
the  violin  of  a  maestro  in  the  hands  of  a  mischiev- 
ous schoolboy ;  while  doctor  after  doctor  assured 
her  there  was  nothing  to  be  in  the  least  alarmed 
about,  that  her  sensations  were  undoubtedly  un- 
pleasant, but  that  hundreds  of  their  patients  under- 
went the  same ;  and  meanwhile  nurses  and  servants 
murmured  openly  concerning  "  whims  and  fancies." 

During  those  ten  weeks  she  had  worn  out  ten 
successive  nurses,  until  during  the  last  week  Mrs. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  445 

Anderson  had  been  persuaded  to  attempt  the  task. 
And  already,  the  calm  strength  of  Mrs.  Anderson's 
character,  and  her  watchful  sympathy,  testified  not 
so  much  by  words  as  by  little  opportune  kindnesses, 
had  begun  to  exercise  a  soothing  control  over  the 
sufferer. 

On  this  particular  morning,  for  the  sixth  time 
that  night,  Mrs.  Anderson  was  summoned  from  her 
broken  sleep  on  the  sofa  to  Mrs.  Dee's  bedside. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Mrs.  Anderson,"  said  the  poor 
querulous  voice,  "  but  I  cannot  bear  it  any  longer. 
I  have  been  trying  for  an  hour  not  to  mind  it,  but 
the  flapping  of  those  blinds  will  drive  me  distracted. 
Could  you  fasten  them  a  little  more  firmly  ?" 

Mrs.  Anderson's  dexterous,  strong  fingers  soon 
effected  this  purpose ;  and  an  expression  of  relief 
came  over  the  patient's  face. 

"  Would  it  be  very  exacting,"  she  said,  "  to  ask 
you  to  read  to  me  a  little  ?" 

And  Mrs.  Anderson  read  the  fortieth  Psalm, 

"  I  waited  patiently  for  the  Lord." 

When  she  ceased,  Mrs.  Dee  was  lying  still,  shed- 
ding quiet  tears. 

"  I  cannot  wait  patiently  for  anything,  Mrs.  An- 
derson," she  said  at  length  ;  "  I  could  have  borne  a 
broken  limb  or  any  terrible  operation.  I  feel  sure 
I  could.  But  the  trying  thing  in  this  is  that  there 
seems  so  little  to  bear.  I  have  lost  the  power  to 
endure  anything.  It  is  very  mysterious." 

"  I  think  the  Lord's  dealings  mostly  are  mysteri- 
38 


446  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

ous,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs.  Anderson ;  "  at  least  there 
are  a  good  many  of  them  I  can't  see  to  the  end 
of  yet.  And  I  never  could  see  the  meaning 
of  any  of  them  until  I  got  on  the  other  side  of 
them." 

"  You  have  had  your  troubles,  no  doubt,"  said 
Mrs.  Dee;  a  little  disposed  to  resent  her  nurse's 
trials  being  put  on  the  same  level  with  her  own. 

"  A  few,  ma'am.  And  many's  the  time  I've 
fretted  myself  sick  to  try  to  read  the  meaning  of 
the  Almighty's  dispensations,  while  they  were  being 
burned  in  on  my  heart.  But  I  never  could.  So  at 
last  I  let  it  alone.  For  I  consider  it's  my  part  not 
to  read  the  writing  to  see  if  it  is  right,  but  just  to 
bear  the  pain.  It's  the  Lord  Himself  who  has  got 
to  engrave  His  commandments  on  the  heart.  And 
He'll  be  sure  to  do  it  right.  And  when  it's  done, 
I'll  be  sure  to  read  it.  And  since  then  I've  found 
things  easier." 

"  Ah  !"  said  Mrs.  Dee  ;  "  if  you  had  told  me  that 
three  months  since,  I  should  have  made  a  note  of 
it,  and  repeated  it  to  my  Bible  class.  But  now  I 
have  to  do  it,  and  I  can't.  And  it's  so  dishonoring 
to  God,"  she  continued ;  "  it's  enough  to  make 
people  think  religion  is  all  a  delusion.  Only  think 
of  the  doctors,  and  servants,  and  every  one  saying, 
'  there's  Mrs.  Dee  who  could  talk  so  well,  and  now 
she  hasn't  patience  to  hear  a  blind  flap  !'  It's  very 
mysterious  that  exactly  the  kind  of  suffering  should 
be  laid  on  me  that  I  cannot  glorify  my  profession 
by  bearing  patiently."  i  -  •• 

Mrs.  Anderson  was  silent. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  447 

"Don't  you  think  it  is  very  mysterious?"  re- 
peated Mrs.  Dee. 

"  Well,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs.  Anderson,  medita- 
tively, "  I've  generally  found  that  my  troubles  did 
come  just  in  the  way  I  didn't  like." 

"  That  is  not  at  all  what  I  mean,"  said  Mrs.  Dee, 
a  little  offended ;  "  what  we  like  or  dislike  is  of 
little  moment.  Of  course,  if  we  are  to  be  tried  we 
must  be  tried  in  a  way  that  is  a  trial.  I  have  said 
so  hundreds  of  times.  But  I  did  expect  tribulation 
would  have  been  sent  me  in  a  form  which  would 
have  enabled  me  to  do  credit  to  the  cause  of  re- 
ligion." 

"  Tell  me  honestly  what  you  think,"  she  resumed, 
after  a  pause.  % 

"  I'm  but  a  plain-spoken  body,  ma'am,  and  words 
are  not  like  fingers ;  you  can  never  say  precisely 
where  they'll  touch,  and  I  might  be  hurting  you 
without  meaning  it." 

"  Say  what  you  think,"  said  Mrs.  Dee,  "  I  hate 
to  be  treated  ceremoniously." 

"  Well,  ma'am,  I  can  only  speak  what  I  have 
felt.  It  seems  to  me  the  Lord  can  take  very  good 
care  of  the  credit  of  His  own  cause,  and  if  the 
foolish  bodies  say  '  what's  the  profit  of  being  relig- 
ious, when  Mrs.  Dee  who  spoke  so  well  and  did  so 
much,  has  not  patience  to  bear  a  few  restless  nights  ?' 
there  are  others  who  will  be  remembering  about 
Stephen  the  martyr,  and  a  good  many  since  his 
day  who  have  suffered  a  thousand  times  as  much 
without  a  murmur  ;  and  they  will  consider,  maybe, 
that  if  we  are  not  always  patient  it's  not  the  fault 


4<j.8  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

of  the  Almighty,  nor  of  religion,  but  of  ourselves, 
poor  feeble  creatures  that  we  are." 

Mrs.  Dee  was  silent.  The  words  seemed  to  flash 
a  new  light  into  her  heart,  and  to  reveal  many 
dusty  corners  there.  And  at  first  she  was  disposed 
to  be  more  angry  with  the  light,  or  with  the  hand 
that  bore  it,  than  with  the  dusty  corners  of  her 
heart. 

"  This  comes  of  putting  it  into  the  power  of 
people  of  that  kind  to  say  impertinent  things,"  she 
said  to  herself.  She  lay  still  a  minute,  and  then 
said,  distantly  and  coldly : 

"  I  have  no  further  occasion  to  disturb  you,  Mrs. 
Anderson,  at  present.  It  is  not  yet  five  o'clock. 
You  had  better  lie  down  and  rest,  whether  I  can 
or  not." 

And  poor  Mrs.  Anderson,  fearing  she  had  blund- 
ered out  something  harsh  and  inopportune,  pondered 
for  a  long  time  how  she  could  pacify  the  patient 
and  justify  herself.  But  being  of  that  peculiar 
species  of  human  beings  who  grow  dumb  when  self- 
justification  is  needed,  she  could  think  of  nothing 
conciliatory  to  say,  and  after  a  brief  prayer  for 
forgiveness,  and  for  more  wisdom  in  the  future,  she 
fell  asleep. 

Just  as  Mrs.  Anderson  fell  asleep  the  sun  rose  to 
a  point,  from  which,  through  a  chink  in  the  blind 
his  rays  lighted  up  a  glass  lustre  on  the  chimney- 
piece  into  an  instrument  of  torture  for  poor  Mrs. 
Dee,  while  at  the  same  time  a  neighboring  cat  be- 
gan to  make  demonstrations  under  the  window. 
For  ten  minutes,  which  seemed  an  hour,  Mrs.  Dee 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  449 

bore  this  double  fire,  until  she  could  endure  no 
longer,  and  then  once  more  she  aroused  Mrs.  An- 
derson, saying : 

"  If  that  cat  cannot  be  silenced,  and  the  sun  kept 
out,  the  medical  men  may  say  what  they  like,  but 
my  brain  will  not  stand  it." 

A  cascade  from  the  water-ewer  "  dispersed  "  the 
cat,  and  a  shifting  of  the  blind  blotted  out  the  daz- 
zling prism  from  the  lustre. 

"  I  do  wonder,  Mrs.  Anderson,  I  must  confess, 
that  you  could  sleep  through  that  horrible  noise," 
said  Mrs.  Dee,  reproachfully ;  "  it  is  rather  a  dis- 
advantage to  a  nurse  to  be  a  heavy  sleeper." 

Mrs.  Anderson  did  not  retort  that  the  lightest 
sleep  might  be  made  heavy  by  being  continually 
broken.  Her  heart  was  too  full  of  pity  and 
self-reproach.  *  And  before  long  Mrs.  Dee  made 
the  retort  on  herself,  exclaiming  with  a  burst  of 
tears : 

"  I  am  a  poor,  miserable,  selfish  creature.  You 
were  right  enough  to  say  that  all  this  peevishness 
and  impatience  are  not  to  be  put  down  to  religion, 
but  to  me.  It  is  better  every  one  should  know 
what  a  humbug  and  a  hypocrite  I  have  been." 

From  bestowing  on  her  infirmities  the  prettiest 
"  platform "  titles,  she  fell  into  the  other  extreme 
of  befouling  them  with  the  ugliest  names  she  could 
think  of. 

Mrs.  Anderson  not  being  in  the  habit  of  keeping 

an  emotional  diary  was  not  aware  that  this  was  a 

form  of  private  penance.     She  accordingly  thought 

it  was  merely  a  little  hysterical  burst  of  temper, 

38* 


450  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

and  instead  of  spiritual  consolation  she  adminis- 
tered smelling-salts. 

"  You  had  better  tell  every  one  what  a  hypocrite 
I  am,"  pursued  Mrs.  Dee,  bitterly ;  "  and  then,  at 
all  events,  there  will  be  no  dishonor  done  to  relig- 
ion. A  poor,  wretched,  noisy,  empty,  tinkling- 
cymbal !" 

"  Ah  !"  said  Mrs.  Anderson,  very  tenderly,  think- 
ing she  saw  some  light  on  the  case.  "  My  poor, 
dear  lady !  The  adversary  tried  that  device  with 
me  too.  And  I  believed  him  for  many  a  long  day. 
But  it's  a  lie.  It's  a  cruel  lie  !" 

"  /  am  a  lie.  My  life  has  been  a  lie,"  said  Mrs. 
Dee,  gradually  approaching  a  true,  unexaggerated 
confession.  "At  least  much  of  it  has.  I  have 
spoken  that  I  did  not  know.  I  have  testified  that  I 
had  not  seen.  1  have  preached  what  I  shall  never 
be  able  to  practice." 

"  Never  fear,  ma'am.  The  good  Lord'll  be  bet- 
ter than  all  your  fears  and  all  the  adversary's 
threats.  He'll  strengthen  you  to  be  still  and  suffer, 
and  then  He'll  strengthen  you  to  get  up  and  speak, 
as  you  never  spoke  before ;  not  from  the  heights 
looking  down  on  the  world's  sorrows  and  sins,  but 
from  the  depths,  where  the  Lord  meets  us,  and  where 
so  many  of  the  grandest  psalms  were  sung.  Isn't 
one  wo^rd  tried  in  the  fire  worth  a  thousand  ? 
We're  all  idol-makers  at  the  best,  and  idol-worship- 
ers. When  the  Lord  breaks  our  idol  we  make  a 
dozen  out  of  the  bits.  And  when  He  breaks  our 
very  hearts,  we'll  take  the  rod  He  breaks  them 
with ;  we'll  take  the  poor  shattered  heart  itself  to 


THE    WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  45 ! 

make  a  pillar  to  lift  ourselves  upon,  and  say  :  *  see, 
was  ever  grief  like  mine  ?'  But  the  Lord  loves  us 
too  well  to  let  us  alone  in  our  work.  So  he  just 
shatters  us  with  some  poor,  little  easy,  ordinary 
trouble  that  crumbles  the  very  bits  to  dust,  and 
shows  us  nothing  but  how  weak  we  are.  And  then 
when  we  lie  all  bare  and  crushed,  and  nothing,  He 
comes  and  stands  beside  us  in  the  dark,  and  says  : 
'  Why  weepest  thou  ?'  And  at  first  we  know  Him 
not.  But  then  He  calls  us  by  name,  tenderly,  by 
the  poor  name  we  have  learned  to  think  so  mean, 
as  if  it  was  still  dear  to  Him.  And  we  look  round 
and  sea  Him  there  Himself,  and  can  say  or  sob  noth- 
ing but  '  Master !  Master !'  He  is  Master  of  us 
altogether.  And  the  idols  are  broken,  and  our 
hearts  are  broken,  and  we  have  nothing,  and  we 
are  nothing.  But  we  are  rich  as  the  angels,  for  we 
have  the  Lord  Himself." 

Mrs.  Dee  said  nothing  in  reply.  A  long  silence 
ensued,  in  which  Mrs.  Anderson  sat  appalled  at 
the  length  of  her  own  speech,  and  fearing  she  had 
wearied  out  her  patient,  while  Mrs.  Dee  lay  still, 
for  the  first  time  for  years  applying  a  sermon,  not 
to  her  district  or  classes,  or  to  this  or  that  "  incon- 
sistent" person  among  her  acquaintances,  but  to 
herself.  She  was  learning  "  the  Divine  art  of  learn- 
ing." To  her  amazement,  after  teaching  for  years 
the  highest  classes,  with  the  highest  approval,  she 
found  herself  learning  on  what  seemed  to  her  the 
lowest  form  in  the  school. 

Yet  she  was  far  from  feeling  altogether  cast 
down.  A  depth  of  meaning  began  to  dawn  on  her 


452  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

in  these  elementary  lessons  which  she  had  not 
hitherto  found  in  the  most  advanced.  Glimpses  of 
grandeur  and  beauty  began  to  dawn  on  her  in  many 
a  self-distrustful  sufferer,  and  in  many  a  despised 

publican. 

She  began  to  feel,  that  if  ever  she  were  permitted 
to  go  forth  into  the  world  again,  it  might  look 
higher  and  wider  to  her  than  ever  it  had  before, 
by  so  much  as  she  felt  herself  lower  and  less.  She 
began  to  understand  that  there  are  a  great  many 
things,  human  as  well  as  Divine,  that  can  only  be 
understood  by  looking  up  to  them. 

But  such  lessons  take  a  long  while  learning. 
For  which  reason  Mrs.  Dee's  silences  became  long 
and  frequent.  And  it  was  chiefly  by  an  increasing 
gentleness  of  manner,  and  by  the  quiet  interest 
with  which  she  listened  to  the  histories  of  other 
sufferers,  that  Mrs.  Anderson  gradually  felt  that 
Mrs.  Dee  had  fallen  out  of  the  ranks  of  the  Rabbis, 
into  the  company  of  the  "  little  children." 


It  cannot  be,  Mr.  Bertram.  I  am  sure  it  would 
not  be  right,"  said  Grace  Leigh.  "  You  do  not 
know  my  father  as  I  do.  You  cannot.  I  know  it 
would  be  like  breaking  up  his  life.  Indeed  it  must 
not  be." 

She  was  sitting  on  a  low  chair  by  her  mother's 
little  work-table,  with  her  work  beside  her,  and  her 
hands  clasped  on  her  knees. 

"  I  know  you  must  have  really  decided  before 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  453 

you  gave  me  your  answer,"  Maurice  said ;  "  yet  let 
me  say  one  word  more.  Could  not  our  home  be- 
come as  homelike  to  Mr.  Leigh  as  this?  And 
could  you  not  trust  me  to  share  your  care  for  him  ?" 
"  You  do  not  know  him  as  I  do,"  she  persisted. 
"  You  did  not  see  the  look  of  peace  which  came 
over  his  face  each  time  we  returned  from  Combe. 
The  first  time  he  looked  brighter  than  I  ever  saw 
him  since  my  mother  died,  and  he  said  with  such  a 
smile :  '  Oh,  Gracie,  there  is  no  place  like  home  !' 
And  this  time,  though  he  did  not  look  quite  so 
bright  because  he  is  not  yet,  you  know,  quite  well, 
he  seemed  to  feel  it  such  a  rest  to  be  here  again. 
He  looked  with  such  a  quiet  satisfaction  round  the 
room,  and  inspected  all  the  old  familiar  things. 
And  he  said  :  '  Promise  me,  Gracie,  you  will  never 
try  to  take  me  away  again,  at  least  not  for  my 
good.'  I  said,  we  must  attend  to  what  the  doctors 
said.  But  he  said  :  '  They  may  say  what  they  like, 
I  shall  never  be  as  well  or  as  happy  anywhere  on 
earth  as  here.  Promise  me  not  to  make  any  loving 
little  plots  to  get  me  away.  It  is  of  no  use,  and 
it  makes  me  feel  like  a  drifting  weed.'  And  I 
promised  him  to  plan  nothing  except  he  knew  all 
about  it,  all  through,  and  really  wished  it  himself. 
And  could  I  ask  him  to  leave  for  my  sake  ?  He 
would  not  make  a  difficulty  if  he  thought  I  had  the 
least  want  or  wish  for  anything.  For  me  to  ask 
him  for  what  might  break  his  heart  to  grant  would 
be  just  to  take  it  from  him.  He  would  never  let 
me  see  one  reproachful  look.  But  I  should  see  him 
droop,  and  suffer,  and  how  could  I  bear  that  ?" 


454  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

A  gleam  of  hope  came  over  Maurice's  face  at  the 
half-implied  .admission  that  her  father's  happiness 
was  the  only  consideration  that  made  an  obstacle, 
and  he  said : 

"  You  may  be  right.  You  must  be  right,  if  you 
feel  always  as  you  do  now.  But  give  me  the  faint- 
est hope  that  one  day  you  might  think  otherwise  ; 
that  if  you  could  see  any  way  in  which  Mr.  Leigh's 
happiness  could  be  consulted  without  destroying 
mine,  you  would  think  over  your  decision  again. 
If  you  could  "give  me  the  faintest  hope  of  your 
being  what  you  could  be,  and  you  only  in  the  world 
to  me,  and  I  would  come  and  go  as  if  I  had  never 
spoken  these  words  to  you." 

She  hesitated  and  looked  down  for  a  minute. 
Then  looking  up  at  him  with  the  clear  truthful  eyes 
no  one  could  ever  doubt,  she  said : 

"I  cannot,  Mr.  Bertram.  How  could  I?  How 
could  I  feel  honest  with  my  father,  if  I  had  a  con- 
cealment from  him  in  the  innermost  corner  of  my 
heart  ?  I  could  not  live  a  day  like  that.  I  should 
feel  as  if  I  were  deceiving  him,  and  although  I 
might  be  doing  it  for  his  happiness,  I  could  never 
bear  it.  His  trust  and  his  tender  thoughtfulness 
for  me  would  sting  me  to  the  heart  if  I  felt  I  was 
secretly  leaning  on  any  one  in  the  world  but  on 
him,  or  looking  for  my  happiness  in  any  time,  how- 
ever far  off,  to  any  but  to  him.  Besides,"  she 
added,  "  I  could  never  let  you  sacrifice  your  life  to 
such  a  dream." 

He  said  quietly  that  her  permission  or  prohib- 
ition would  make  no  difference  in  this  but  only  in 


.       THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  455 

his  hope;  that  having  found  the  very  best,  the 
reality  of  all  his  visions,  it  was  simply  impossible 
for  his  heart  ever  to  turn  from  it  more.  And  then 
he  took  leave,  and  slowly  went  out  of  the  house, 
and  with  a  heart  not  a  little  cast  down,  re-entered 
his  parsonage  and  locked  himself  into  his  study. 

"  A  just  Nemesis,"  he  said  bitterly  to  himself, 
"  for  my  ever  mistaking  the  false  for  the  true.  And 
yet,"  he  continued,  rising  from  these  self-reproaches 
to  a  truer  feeling,  "  if  ever  love  was  true  on  earth, 
mine  is  for  Grace.  And  nothing  can  or  shall  pre- 
vent my  caring  all  my  life  for  her  and  her  happi- 
ness, more  than  for  anything  on  earth,  and  watch- 
ing to  turn  aside  every  possible  trial  and  distress 
from  her,  although  I  must  do  it  unknown,  and 
unregarded,  and  unrewarded  by  word  or  look." 

Yet  just  then  a  bewildering  sunbeam  of  hope 
broke  in  on  his  thoughts.  "  She  said  she  could  not 
ask  her  father  !  But  if  she  were  altogether  indif- 
ferent, could  she  not  tell  him  all  quite  naturally  and 
easily  !" 

This  avenue  of  thought  led  far,  but  suddenly  he 
turned  resolutely  from  it,  for  it  seemed  to  him 
almost  a  treachery  to  creep  by  any  bypath  to  the 
glimpse  of  a  hope  she  had  refused  to  allow.  "  No," 
he  thought,  "  she  is  true  to  her  innermost  heart, 
and  I  will  be  true  to  her  commands  in  mine.  I 
witl  not  in  my  secret  thoughts  admit  a  hope  she 
does  not  sanction." 

But  when  the  sun  is  risen  it  is  hard,  by  the  most 
resolute  foldings  of  drapery,  to  make  the  day  quite 
like  night.  The  faintest  pencil  of  a  sunbeam  is  so 


456  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

much  stronger  than  all  the  bolts  and  bars  of  dark- 
ness. 

("Exaggerated!  uber  spannt !n  Lady  Katharine 
would  have  said,  had  she  known  of  this.  "  Exactly 
what  I  always  felt  to  be  Grace's  weak  point !  Con- 
science getting  the  better  of  common  sense.  In 
Lady  Jane  Grey's  position,  for  instance,  Grace,  and 
nine-tenths  of  the  good  women  in  the  world,  would 
have  made  Lady  Jane's  mistake ;  that  is,  gone  and 
done  precisely  the  wrong  thing  precisely  because 
she  didn't  like  it.  But  as  to  Maurice,  I  have  no 
patience  with  him.  Men  ought  to  know  better, 
even  good  men  (who  always,  by  the  way,  do  more 
wrong-headed  things  than  any  one  else).  Be  true 
to  Grace's  commands  in  his  innermost  heart !  arrant 
Quixotic  nonsense.  He  should  have  gone  direct  to 
Mr.  Leigh  at  once,  and  everything  and  every  one 
would  have  been  set  right  in  half  an  hour." 

However,  Lady  Katharine  knew  nothing  of  the 
matter  until  long  afterwards,  which  may  partly 
account  for  the  good  sense  of  her  remarks.  Critics 
of  all  kinds  of  battlefields  have  such  a  great  advan- 
tage over  combatants  as  to  clearness  of  vision; 
especially  when  the  smoke  and  the  din  have  van- 
ished, and  the  battle  is  lost  or  won.) 

Meantime  Grace  sat  some  minutes,  quite  still, 
where  Maurice  left  her. 

"  If  it  had  been  possible  !"  she  thought,  but  did 
not  even  in  thought  follow  the  possibility  to  a  con- 
clusion, "  for  it  is  not  possible,"  was  her  conviction. 
"And  I  am  true  to  my  father  in  my  innermost 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  457 

heart,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  I  do  choose  with  my 
whole  heart  to  liVe  for  him,  and  only  for  him.  I 
can  meet  his  smile  with  a  smile  from  my  whole 
heart.  I  am  sure  I  can.  I  will.  I  can  feel  it  the 
happiest  thing,  in  the  world  to  work  for  him  and 
Harry,  and  to  make  his  home  home-like  and  bright. 
I  always  did,  and  I  shall  still.  I  will.  I  need  not 
tell  father  anything  about  it,  I  am  sure,  because-j- 
because  there  is  nothing  to  tell.  My  whole  heart 
belongs  to  him  and  to  Harry  as  much  as  ever  it  did. 
My  happiness  is  in  the  old  home  as  much  as  ever  it 
was.  Of  course,  I  cannot  help  being  sorry  for  Mr. 
Bertram.  But  he  is  so  good  and  true,  all  must  be 
right  for  him.  But  it  will  be  wonderfully  happy 
for  the  woman  whose  duty  it  is  to  love  him  as  he 
ought  to  be  loved  !" 

And  persuaded  as  Grace  felt  that  her  father  and 
Harry  and  their  home,  were  as  much  her  all  and 
her  happiness  as  ever,  some  shadows  would  drop 
heavily  over  the  sunny  pictures  she  tried  to  make. 
The  struggle  ended  in  a  retreat  to  her  room  and  an 
overwhelming  flood  of  tears,  which  she  tried  hard 
to  check,  but  failed:  partly  because  the  hidden 
source  from  which  they  sprang  was  the  one  point 
she  dared  not  approach,  and  partly  Jbecause  she 
attempted  too  much,  not  merely  to  assuage  the 
waters,  but  to  bring  back  the  sunshine.  At  length 
she  effected  a  compromise  and  tacit  truce  with  her- 
self, concluding  :  "  It  is  not  necessary  to  be  happy 
about  everything.  It  is  only  necessary  to  do  right 
and  to  be  sure  God  is  doing  right  with  us.  He 
will  take  care  of  the  happiness." 
39 


458  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

The  autumn  and  winter  of  that  year  passed  away 
with  little  incident  either  at  Combe  Monachorum 
or  at  the  Cedars,  or  in  Grace  Leigh's  world  in  the 
east  of  London. 

Miss  Betsy  Lovel's  cataract  was  slowly  advanc- 
ing towards  the  complete  blindness  which  was  to 
be  the  signal  of  deliverance.  Miss  Lavinia's 
strength  was  steadily  increasing,  and  from  time  to 
time  she  sent  memorials  of  her  walks  to  Grace  in 
the  form  of  dried  flowers,  or  sea-weeds  from  green, 
cool  banks  and  tide-washed  pools,  well  known  to 
both.  To  Miss  Betsy's  chagrin,  Miss  Lavinia  could 
not  be  induced  to  prosecute  her  landscape  painting. 
It  was  so  difficult  to  her  to  adapt  her  conventional 
grays  and  browns,  and  her  various  symbolical 
"touches"  for  trees  and  herbage,  to  the  very 
unconventional  and  irregular  trees  and  ferns  and 
grasses ;  the  fresh  and  tender  greens  and  blues  of 
the  hills,  and  the  translucent  emeralds  and  ame- 
thysts of  the  sea  around  Combe,  that  after  a  few 
disappointing  efforts,  she  gave  up  the  struggle,  and 
sagaciously  determined  for  the  future  to  look  and 
enjoy  out-of-doors,  and  to  paint  in-doors.  By  this 
means  many  perplexing  contrasts  of  form  and  color 
were  evaded,  and  her  respect  for  the  instructor  of 
her  youth  was  made  compatible  with  her  delight 
in  a  nature  dissenting  schismatically  from  his  prin- 
ciples of  art.  His  sketches,  she  concluded,  must 
have  been  made  in  some  peculiarly-tinted  foreign 
country,  where  the  meadows  had  too  much  respect 
for  the  sun,  or  the  color-box,  to  persist  in  unattaina- 
ble greens,  and  where  the  trees  were  highly  respect- 


TEE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  459 

able,  and  clothed  themselves  in  decent  browns,  and 
ranged  themselves  in  appropriate  attitudes  for  fore- 
grounds. 

Either  this,  or  there  must  be  an  "  artistic  "  way 
of  seeing  the  world,  and  an  ordinary  human  way. 
Miss  Lavinia,  therefore,  not  being  able  to  attain  to 
the  high  artistic  point  of  vie  wf*  contented  herself 
with  coloring  like  her  drawing-master,  and  seeing 
like  other  people. 

She  took  endless  delight  on  the  other  hand  in 
reviving  certain  faint  beginnings  of  LinnaBan  bot- 
any, and  in  two  books  about  ferns  and  sea-weeds, 
which  Lady  Katharine  lent  her.  Arid  great  as  Miss 
Betsy  considered  the  fall  from  landscape  art  to  such 
childish  amusements,  she  was  consoled  by  witness- 
ing the  health  and  pleasure  her  sister  was  gaining 
every  day  in  searching  among  the  treasure-houses 
of  these  "  riches "  of  God.  More  than  one  old 
woman  and  sick  child,  moreover,  Miss  Lavinia 
found  to  read  the  Bible  to,  while  Miss  Betsy  took 
comfort  in  reviving  traditional  receipts  for  possets 
and  cough  mixtures,  which  greatly  increased  the 
respect  entertained  towards  her  in  the  village,  and 
by  the  housekeeper  at  the  Abbey.  Nevertheless, 
the  hearts  of  the  sisters  remained  true  to  the  old 
home  in  the  east  of  London,  and  by  far  the  larger 
portions  of  Miss  Lavinia's  letters  (to  say  nothing , 
of  the  reiterated  P.  SS.)  were  occupied  with  in- 
quiries about  the  maids-of-all-work,  past  and  present, 
at  the  lodgings,  Mr.  Leigh's  health  and  sermons, 
Caleb  Treherne,  Mrs.  Anderson,  and  other  matters 
connected  with  the  district. 


460  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

Mrs.  Anderson  herself,  meanwhile,  had  begun 
quietly  working  under  Mrs.  O'Brien's  superintend- 
ence, among  the  poor  she  had  been  so  long  ac- 
quainted with  in  her  own  neighborhood ;  finding 
out,  as  it  would  scarcely  have  been  possible  for  Mrs. 
O'Brien  to  have  done,  the  true  cases  of  distress 
from  the  false,  anorhe  people  to  whom  alms  might 
be  a  priceless  bridge  over  a  temporary  difficulty 
from  those  to  whom  they  would  have  been  merely 
a  further  step  in  the  descent  to  helpless  and  hope- 
less pauperism. 

Gradually,  moreover,  as  with  all  good  works  that 
have  root  in  themselves  and  life  from  above,  one 
benevolent  plan  grew  out  of  another.  For  instance, 
a  home  for  destitute  orphan  children,  not  so  large 
as  to  cease  to  be  home,  nor  for  individual  character 
and  affection  to  be  lost  in  the  necessary  routine  of 
a  great  institution ;  and  a  cottage  where  the  sick 
enjoyed  fresh  air  and  nourishing  food  and  the  luxury 
of  being  cared  for  during  those  weeks  of  convalesc- 
ence which  so  often  decide  whether  the  patient  re- 
turns to  life  with  renewed  strength  and  spirit,  or 
sinks  into  permanent  feebleness  and  depression. 
And  as  in  all  things  of  natural  growth,  these  works 
of  love  all  fitted  into  and  filled  out  each  other ;  the 
orphan  children  waiting  on  the  sick  women,  and 
thus  being  themselves  trained  for  their  work  in 
life,  while  more  evils  were  avoided  which  spring 
from  any  one  class  or  age  being  unnaturally  secluded 
to  itself. 

Many  also  were  the  ways  in  which  Winnie  could 
share  in  Mrs.  O'Brien's  work,  so  that  she  began  to 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  461 

lose  her  fear  that  the  door  of  the  Expanding  Palace 
which  could  only  be  kept  open  by  going  out  to 
serve  and  welcoming  others  within,  would  ever 
again  be  closed. 

Lady  Katharine,  on*  one  of  her  flying  visits,  saw 
and  rejoiced. 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  "  if  we  would  only  each  of  us 
take  care  of  the  little  bit  of  waste  ground  around 
us,  there  would  be  no  need  (as  unhappily  there  now 
is !)  of  almshouses,  where  isolated  old  women  worry 
each  other  into  the  grave,  or  for  gigantic  asylums 
where  little  children  are  squared  and  squeezed  into 
uniform  little  blocks  of  humanity,  only  to  be  dis- 
tinguished by  size  !" 

"  In  that  case,"  Maurice  replied,  "  perhaps  there 
need  have  been  only  one  institution  and  one  asylum 
in  the  world,  the  Holy  Catholic  and  Apostolic 
Church.  And  that  would  be  a  Family  and  a  Home. 
But  we  are  some  little  way  off  from  that  yet." 

"  But  Grace  Leigh,"  said  Winnie  one  day  to 
Maurice,  "  is  best  off  of  us  all.  It  seems  as  if,  for 
her,  the  gates  opened  into  all  the  Five  Worlds  at 
once.  For  everything  she  learns  and  sees  and 
imagines  is  consecrated  to  the  service  of  other 
people.  Religion  and  art  and  serving  others,  seem 
all  one  for  Grace.  She  is  doing  the  very  highest 
thing  any  one  can  do  just  in  doing  little  loving 
home-duties.  Don't  you  think,  Maurice,  there  is 
no  one's  life  so  good  and  happy  as  Grace's  ?" 

Happily  for  Maurice,  when  Winnie  was.  pursuing 
a  track  of  her  own,  she  was  often  too  eager-  about 
it  to  watch  how  it  affected  other  people^  There- 
39* 


462  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

fore  she  did  not  observe  his  silence,  but  before  he 
could  decide  what  to  reply,  she  continued  : 

"  If  it  would  only  last  for  ever,  Maurice  !  But 
auntie  says  Mr.  Leigh  looks  more  and  more  feeble 
every  time  he  comes  here  for  his  Monday  holiday, 
once  a  month.  And  if  his  voice  should  break  down 
again,  what  would  Grace  do  ?  I  began  once  to 
speak  to  her  about  it,  but  she  did  not  seem  to  like 
to  dwell  on  it.  She  only  said  he  would  rest  a  little 
while  again,  but  she  hoped  he  would  not  need  it. 
But  her  voice  trembled ;  and  when  I  ventured  to  ask 
her  what  she  would  do  if  she  herself  were  ill  again, 
she  only  laughed  and  said  she  was  the  toughest 
person  in  the  world,  and  had  never  been  ill  in  her 
life  except  that  once,  and  she  often  thought  that 
instead  of  Campbell's  last  man,  she  should  be  the 
last  woman.  But  then,"  continued  Winnie,  "  her 
face  suddenly  changed,  and  she  looked  at  me  so 
earnestly  and  said :  *  Indeed,  I  don't  think  father 
is  worse ;  Harry  and  I  both  think  he  is  stronger 
than  he  usually  is  in  the  autumn.  And  I  think  no 
one  can  judge  as  well  as  Harry  and  I.'  But  she 
did  not  ask  me  what  auntie  or  any  one  else  thought. 
And  I  did  not  dare  to  say  anything  more.  Do  you 
think  she  could  have  been  afraid  to  ask,  Maurice  ? 
or  do  you  think  I  ought  to  have  told  her  ?" 

"  I  think  not.  No,  certainly  not,"  said  Maurice  ; 
"  only  if  Aunt  Cecil  likes  to  ask  them,  it  might  do 
Mr.  Leigh  good  to  spend  a  week  or  two  here  at 
Christmas.  I  shall  have  to  be  in  the  country  just 
then,"  he  added,  rather  carelessly.  Winnie  thought 
and  wondered. 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  463 

Grace  had  indeed  quite  given  up  asking  people 
how  they  thought  Mr.  Leigh  looking.  She  could 
so  often  see  what  they  would  have  answered  hy  the 
expression  of  their  faces  ;  and  people  who  only  saw 
him  occasionally  (she  persuaded  herself)  forgot 
how  he  looked  when  they  saw  him  last,  and  natu- 
rally thought  him  worse  than  he  really  was.  For 
he  did  always  now  look  rather  white  and  feeble, 
Grace  admitted  to  herself.  But  only  she  and  Harry 
could  perceive  the  little  improvements  in  appetite 
and  spirits,  or'  in  power  of  walking  or  studying, 
from  day  to  day.  Besides,  had  he  not  been  able  to 
read  the  Church  service  morning  and  evening,  and 
to  preach  in  the  afternoon  every  Sunday,  without 
intermission,  since  their  return  from  Combe  ? 

So  the  months  passed  quietly  on,  until  the  close 
of  the  year  came,  and  the  day  for  the  annual  visit 
to  Cousin  Felix. 

Mr.  Leigh  had,  more  than  once,  during  the  year, 
contrived  to  call,  and  had  found  opportunities  for  a 
few  minutes'  quiet  talk  with  little  Maud,  so  that  he 
and  the  child  had  a  complete  mutual  understanding, 
and  the  smile  of  welcome  which  lit  up  her  whole 
countenance  when  she  saw  him,  quite  warmed  the 
chill  atmosphere  of  the  house  for  Mr.  Leigh. 

On  this  occasion  the  Hunter  family  were  more 
unapproachable  in  their  various  forms  of  state  than 
ever.  Mr.  Hunter  had  bought  a  mansion  and  estate 
in  one  of  the  western  counties  near  Combe  Mona- 
chorum,  and  had  that  autumn  astonished  the  natives 
by  a  magnificence  which  threw  the  Abbey  and  the 
Wyses  quite  into  the  shade. 


464  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

The  boys  incensed  Harry  by  informing  him  that 
the  young  Wyses  were  "muffs,"  and  that  Lady 
Katharine  was  a  "  screw,"  as  (in  another  sense)  was 
every  horse  in  her  stables.  Indeed,  no  man  who 
had  the  least  idea  what  a  horse  should  be,  would, 
they  asserteil,  be  seen  behind  that  disreputable  old 
pair  of  grays,  which  Lady  Katharine  drove.  But, 
of  course,  they  conceded,  women  could  not  be  ex- 
pected to  understand  such  things.  Beyond  Lady 
Katharine's  stables,  the  Hunter  family  did  not  as 
yet  appear  to  have  penetrated. 

"  The  truth  was  (Alicia  told  Grace)  that  those 
decaying  old  country  families  are  dying  with  envy 
at  the  superior  elegance  of  papa's  establishment, 
and  endeavor,  mamma  says,  to  hide  their  mortifica- 
tion under  an  affectation  of  indifference  or  con- 
tempt." 

From  which  it  might  perhaps  be  gathered  that 
the  reception  of  the  Felix  Hunters  in  the  West 
Country  had  not  corresponded  to  what  Cousin 
Felix  called  their  due  and  becoming  sense  of  their 
own  position  and  character. 

From  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hunter  not  a  word  dropped 
to  lead  to  any  conclusion  of  the  kind. 

Mr.  Hunter  expatiated  to  Mr.  Leigh  on  the  ex- 
cellences of  his  estate,  and  on  the  immense  advan- 
tage it  would  be  to  that  old-fashioned  country 
neighborhood  to  have  a  man  introduced  into  it 
who  understood  what  the  nineteenth  century  was, 
who  would  initiate  it  into  the  mysteries  of  steam 
ploughing  and  threshing,  drain  the  low  lands,  en- 
close and  subsoil  the  wastes,  and,  in  short,  give  the 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  465 

inhabitants  generally  an  idea  of  what  could  be  done 
with  land  by  a  man  of  progress  who  looked  on  it, 
not  as  a  mere  ancestral  position,  but  as  an  invest- 
ment. 

Mrs.  Hunter  observed  to  Grace,  in  her  loftiest 
manner,  that  Deerham  Park  would  be  a  very 
'pleasant  retreat  for  people  who  like  themselves 
would  of  course  spend  the  season  in  London,  or 
some  portion  of  each  year  on  the  Continent.  It  had 
been  the  residence  of  Lord  Newmarket,  she  re- 
marked, in  passing,  and  Lord  Newmarket's  house- 
keeper, who  would  remain  with  them,  had  observed 
that  the  Wyses  were  respected  in  the  neighbor- 
hood as  very  good  kind  of  people,  although,  natu- 
rally, not  living  in  the  style  they  were  accustomed 
to  at  Deerham  Park. 

Mrs.  Hunter  also  regretted  that  this  would  be  the 
last  year  they  should  see  Grace  and  her  father  at 
Bedford  Square.  It  had,  however,  long  been  a  trial 
to  her  to  be  imprisoned  in  a  part  of  the  town  where 
none  of  her  "  set "  felt  at  home.  And  Mr.  Hunter 
had  just  concluded  a  negotiation  for  the  purchase 
of  a  house  in  Belgravia,  to  which,  she  was  afraid,  it 
would  hardly  be  a  kindness  to  ask  poor  dear  Mr. 
Leigh  to  come,  so  delicate  as  he  seemed  to  be,  on 
account  of  the  distance. 

Grace  might  have  consoled  Mrs.  Hunter  by 
assuring  her  that  Belgravia  was  not  as  far  from  the 
East  of  London  as  the  Cedars,  but  that  the  distance 
in  that  case  was  made  no  obstacle  by  means  of  Mrs. 
O'Brien's  carriage.  But  retort  was  not  at  all  in 
Grace's  way.  Indeed,  almost  the  only  part  of  Mrs. 


466        .          WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

Hunter's  discourse  which  made  any  impression  on 
her  was  the  fact  that  one  person  more  evidently 
thought  her  father  looking  out  of  health.  An  im- 
pression deepened  to  an  overwhelming  conviction 
when  little  Maud  said,  as  they  were  going  away, 
with  great  tears  in  her  eyes  : 

"  Oh,  Cousin  Grace,  I  have  been  knitting  a  little 
comforter  for  dear  Mr.  Leigh's  throat.  Do  you 
think  he  might  wear  it  on  Sunday  evenings  when 
he  comes  out  of  church  ?  The  churches  get  so  hot, 
and  Mr.  Leigh  looks " 

But  there  either  little  Maud's  tears,  or  a  glimpse 
she  caught  of  Grace's  face  stopped  her,  and  it  was 
not  till  after  some  moments'  silence  that  she 
resumed : 

"  You  won't  think  it  strange  or  interfering  of  me, 
Cousin  Grace  ?  I  know  you  do  everything  any  one 
could  possibly  do,  or  think  of,  for  Mr.  Leigh.  But 
I  thought  perhaps  you  might  not  have  thought  ot 
the  comforter.  And  if  you  have,  I  should  be  very 
much  obliged  if  Mr.  Leigh  would  wear  mine  some- 
times. Mr.  Leigh  has  been  so  very  good  to  me," 
said  the  poor  child,  "  and  I  do  love  him  so  very 
dearly." 

When,  after  the  long  silent  kiss  with  which  the 
cousins  parted,  Grace  looked  back  again  at  Maud, 
it  sent  a  terrible  pang  to  her  heart  to  see  the  wist- 
ful look  with  which  she  followed  Mr.  Leigh.  And 
she  felt  drawn  back  by  it  as  if  by  a  spell  to  give 
one  more  kiss  to  the  little  suffering  creature  who 
loved  her  father  so  well. 

"  Cousin   Grace,"   little  Maud    then    whispered 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  467 

timidly,  "  the  house  in  Belgravia  is  not  so  very  far 
from  the  river,  they  say,  and  there  are  steamboats 
on  the  river,  are  there  not?  Do  you  think  Mr. 
Leigh  could  ever  come  and  pay  me  one  of  his  little 
visits  ?  They  do  help  me  more  than  anything  in 
the  world.  But  not,  if  it  would  tire  Mr.  Leigh, 
Cousin  Grace,  you  know,  not  for  the  world ! " 

*  With,  one  more  kiss  and  a  conditional  promise 
Grace  went  away,  and  this  time  she  did  not  venture 
to  look  back  again. 

The  three  walked  silently  away  from  Bedford 
Square  that  night. 

"  Your  Cousin  Felix  is  a  remarkable  man,  Grace,," 
said  Mr.  Leigh  at  length,  "  really  a  very  remarkable 
man.  Such  indomitable  energy  and  perseverance  ! 
Naturally,  such  a  man  must  succeed.  What  a  use- 
ful life  his  has  been  1  He  reminded  me  to-night,  as 
we  were  going  over  the  past,  that  he  had  founded 
or  begun  to  found  an  Hospital  and  an  Orphan 
Asylum.  And  he  talks  of  restoring  the  church  in 
the  parish  where  his  new  place  is,  an'd  of  quite  re- 
modeling the  board  of  guardians.  No  one  can  say 
the  amount  of  good  he  may  do  in  that  parish,  with 
his  energy,  and  his  means.  A  useful  life  !  indeed  a 
very  remarkable  life  ! "  concluded  Mr.  Leigh,  re- 
cognizing by  a  sigh  the  contrast  which  Mr.  Hunter 
had  been  implying  throughout  those  impressive 
fragments  of  his  autobiography  which  he  had  been 
recapitulating  to  his  meek  and  patient  guest. 

Grace  attempted  no  debate  with  her  father.  But 
Harry,  panting  for  an  outlet  to  his  long  pent-up 
indignation, .  exclaimed : 


468  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

"  I  think  Cousin  Felix  is  a  Pharisee,  and  Cousin 
Hunters  are  every  one  of  them  snobs,  and  Mrs. 
Hunter,"  concluded  Harry — hunting  through  his  not 
very  extensive  resources  of  imagery  for  a  simile, 
expressive  enough — "  Mrs.  Hunter  is  the  frog  in 
^Esop's  fables." 

"  Harry,  Harry  ! "  said  Mr.  Leigh.  "  Judge  not, 
and  ye  shall  not  be  judged." 

"  I  do  not  judge,  father,"  said  Harry,  writhing 
from  beneath  what  he  felt  to  be  an  amiable  misap- 
plication of  the  text.  "  I  only  feel !  And  I  can't 
help  it !  They  actually  pretend  to  look  down  on 
Lady  Katharine,  and  Grace — and  you,"  said  he, 
advancing  to  what,  in  his  loyal  eyes  was  a  climax 
of  enormities.  "  And  1  can't  stand  it,  and  I  won't. 
It's  a  disgrace  to  have  them  for  -cousins.  And  I 
wish  I  need  never  speak  to  one  of  them  again,  ex- 
cept little  Maud,  of  course ;  poor  good  dear  little 
Maud,"  he  added  in  a  softened  tone. 

"  Poor  dear  little  Maud,"  said  Grace,  seizing  the 
first  favorable  turning.  "  She  loves  you  so  dearly, 
father  1  She  says  no  one  in  the  world  ever  helped 
her  as  you  have." 

"And  that  alone  is  better  than  founding  ten 
thousand  of  Cousin  Felix's  Hospitals  and  Orphan 
Asylums.  I  have  no  doubt,"  pursued  Harry, 
"  they  give  cheap  broth  and  scraps  to  those  wretch- 
ed orphans ;  and  that  in  that  Hospital  the  nurses 
drink  brandy,  and  starve  the  patients,  as  I  saw  they 
do,  the  other  day,  in  the  paper.  When  I  am  a 
doctor,  won't  I  get  appointed  to  that  Hospital  of 
Cousin  Felix's,  and  see  all  about  it  and  write  to 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  469 

the  Times,  and  have  the  poor  creatures  set  right ! " 
concluded  Harry,  waxing  eloquent  in  his  imaginary 
defense  of  the  imaginary  wrongs  of  his  patients 
that  were  to  be. 

Mr.  Leigh  was  appalled  at  Harry's  vehemence 
but  he  simply  said : 

"  You  will  find  a  good  many  other  things  to  set 
right  first,  Harry,  on  your  way." 

The  next  day  brought  two  letters  from  Combe. 
One  was  in  the  conventional  handwriting  of  Miss 
Lavinia's  school-days,  the  letters  neatly  constructed 
to  be  as  nearly  like  each  other  as  was  consistent 
with  any  possibility  of  being  read,  as  if  it  had  been 
their  first  vocation  in  life  to  look  elegant,  and  quite 
a  secondary  one  to  be  understood;  a  graceful 
obscurity  which  was  further  deepened  by  every 
page  being  crossed,  Miss  Lavinia  never  having  been 
able  experimentally  to  realize  the  fact  of  the  penny 
postage. 

The  letter,  however,  gave  great  delight  to  Grace. 

"  They  are  coming  back,  father,"  she  said. 
"  They  are  coming  back.  They  want  us  to  take 
lodgings  for  them  at  once.  Miss  Betsy's  eyes  are 
ready  for  the  operation.  They  seem  so  glad  to 
come,  and  won't  it  be  delightful  to  have  them  here 
again  ?  " 

"  Lady  Katharine  wants  us  to  return,"  the  letter 
concluded,  "  and  it  does,  I  am  afraid,  seem  very  un- 
grateful not  to  wish  to  come  back  to  such  a  pretty 
home  as  she  has  provided  for  us.  But  we  are  two 
foolish  old  people,  and  I  do  want  to  see  Caleb 
40 


4.70  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

Treherne  about  some  of  those  neglected  girls ;  and 
Betsy  says  she  is  very  sorry  to  grieve  Lady  Kath- 
arine, but  if  she  recovers  her  sight  she  does  not 
think  she  could  bear  to  live  in  a  place  where  she 
has  nothing  to  do,  and  nobody  to  manage.  And 
we  do  both  want  so  very  much  to  hear  Mr.  Leigh 
preach  again.  I  never  shall  find  anything  help  me 
like  those  afternoon  sermons  of  his.  Nor  will 
Betsy." 

Grace's  voice  trembled  perceptibly  as  she  read 
those  words,  for  her  father  could  scarcely  speak 
above  a  whisper  that  morning,  and  she  was  in 
terror  as  to  what  could  be  done  for  the  next 
Sunday. 

The  other  letter  was  from  Lady  Katharine,  in  a 
large  bold  hand,  which  seemed  to  have  no  other 
purpose  but  to  be  written  quickly  and  read  easily, 
the  first  purpose  occasionally  prevailing  over  the 
second.  It  began : 

"  MY  DEAR  GRACE — I  don't  make  at  all  a  good 
old  fairy.  My  perverse  proteges  persist  in  mistak- 
ing me  for  the  wicked  old  fairy,  regarding  my  fairy 
palaces  as  dreadful  fairy-prisons,  where,  having 
oe witched  my  victims  into  strange  unwonted 
shapes,  I  shut  them  up  in  cages,  and  expect  them 
to  sing  gratefully  for  my  amusement,  as  if  they 
enjoyed  it.  Two  of  these  victims  are  at  this 
moment  escaping  from  these  malicious  spells.  They 
insist  on  abandoning  their  cage,  and  resuming  their 
former  mode  of  life,  in  spite  of  all  my  persuasions, 
and  all  the  sugar  and  gilding  I  have  lavished  on  the 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  47 1 

cage.     But  what  hurts  my  feelings  most  of  all  is 
that  I  suspect  you  and  Mr.  Leigh  of  being   my 


counter  magicians. 


"  Seriously,  dear  Grace,  it  is  very  hard  that  the 
friends  of  a  solitary  old  woman  like  me  will  prefer 
being  troubled  in  their  own  way  to  being  happy  in 
mine.  But  I  give  up  the  contest.  Willfulness  was 
the  first  sin,  and  will  be  the  last,  our  new  curate 
says ;  and  even  in  myself,  I  confess  I  can  detect  just 
those  few  faint  traces  of  its  presence  which  are 
necessary  to  give  one  a  sympathy  with  fallen  hu- 
manity— so  that,  for  instance,  it  might  at  this  mo- 
ment be  dangerous  to  the  Miss  Lovels  and  to  you, 
were  I  a  despotic  monarch,  or  the  majority  in  a 
Republic. 

"  But  now,  Grace,  be  reasonable,  and  make  the 
Miss  Lovels  understand  that  it  is  in  some  way 
essential  to  my  happiness  that  you  should  take  for 
them  the  most  comfortable  lodgings  you  can  find, 
near  you.  Say  I  have  the  distribution  of  a  fund 
instituted  in  the  days  of  Arthur  Pendragon  for  the 
especial  benefit  of  the  daughters  of  naval  and 
marine  officers.  Say  I  expect  Miss  Betsy  to  repay 
me  the  debt  to  the  last  farthing,  with  compound 
interest,  in  the  millennium  ;  and  as  our  new  curate 
says  the  millennium  is  to  begin  either  in  October 
1867,  or  in  January  1876,  really  the  investment  is 
scarcely  a  speculation !  But  whatever  you  say  or 
do,  make  that  dear  fidgetty  old  gentlewoman  com- 
fortable until  the  operation.  I  have  settled  about 
that,  already,  with  the  oculist.  Afterwards,  a  willful 
woman  must  have  her  way.  But  I  also  have  my 


472  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

plans.  And  time  only  will  prove  who  this  willful 
woman  is:  Miss  Betsy  Lovel,  or  you — you  meek 
little  despot — or  your  affectionate  old  friend, 

"  KATHARINE  WYSE. 

"  1ST.B. — I  enclose  a  letter  to  "be  delivered  to  Miss 
Lovel  in  case  of  the  operation  proving  successful, 
and  her  thereupon  proposing  to  resume  her  school." 

Grace  simply  engaged  the  required  lodgings  and 
took  Miss  Betsy  and  Miss  Lavinia  thither,  on  their 
arrival  in  London,  telling  them  that  Lady  Katharine 
insisted  on  their  still  being  her  guests. 

Miss  Betsy  patiently  submitted  and  Miss  Lavinia 
thankfully  acquiesced,  and  thus  matters  rested  until 
the  operation. 

The  couching  of  the  cataract  was  perfectly  suc- 
cessful, and  after  the  few  prescribed  weeks  of  sub- 
sequent inaction,  as  soon  as  Miss  Betsy  was  per- 
mitted to  use  her  eyes  again,  Grace  found  her  one 
morning  busy  writing  circulars  to  inform  the 
parents  of  her  former  pupils  of  her  intention  to  re- 
open the  academy  for  young  ladies.  "I  should 
prefer  calling  it  a  girls'  school,"  she  said,  "  but  I 
suppose  we  must  yield  to  vulgar  prejudices." 

Miss  Betsy  was  evidently  trying  hard  to  take  a 
cheerful  view  of  things,  yet  it  was  equally  evident 
that  desponding  thoughts  would  intrude  them- 
selves as  -she  prepared  to  recommence  the  old  life- 
long struggle  with  advancing  years,  and  a  terribly 
progressive  age. 

"I  do  wish  sometimes,"  she  said,  "I  had  been 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.   •          473 

gifted  with  a  taste  for  teaching,  or  that  there  were 
anything  else  for  poor  gentlewomen  to  do." 

Grace  concluded  that  the  moment  had  arrived  for 
producing  Lady  Katharine's  enclosed  letter. 

Miss  Betsy  read  it  through,  with  quivering  lips 
and  a  deepening  color.  But  as  she  laid  it  down, 
an  expression  of  hope  and  joyful  determination 
beamed  over  her  whole  countenance. 

"  Lady  Katharine  need  not  have  apologised,"  she 
said,  "  or  tried  to  make  it  easier  for  me,  by  saying 
it  is  what  she  would  have  liked  herself.  My  pride 
is  not  of  that  kind.  I  will  go  and  see  Mrs.  Dee 
about  it  to-morrow.  They  want  us  to  undertake 
the  superintendence  of  a  training  school  for  nurses," 
she  added  in  explanation,  "  with  a  small  orphanage 
and  servants'  training  school,  in  which  Lavinia 
would  help  as  well.  It  is  to  be  in  Mr.  Bertram's 
parish ;  Mrs.  Dee  and  Mrs.  Anderson  have  been 
arranging  the  details  with  Lady  Katharine.  And 
to  prepare  me  for  it,  I  must  myself  be  trained  in 
one  of  the  Hospitals.  It  will  be  new  life  to  Lavinia. 
And  as  to  her  accomplishments  being  thrown  away," 
concluded  Miss  Betsy,  with  a  final  little  fling  at 
the  century,  "  why,  they  are  thrown  away  on  such 
an  age  and  in  such  a  neighborhood  as  this.  It 
will  be  quite  a  comfort  to  withdraw  them  from  a 
world  so  little  capable  of  appreciation.  Only  think, 
instead  of  teaching  girls  who  ought  to  be  at  the 
National  Schools,  things  they  don't  appreciate,  and 
have  no  right  to  learn — of  spending  one's  life  in 
helping  to  make  sick  people  comfortable,  seeing 
that  the  nurses  obey  the  doctors,  and  training  ser- 
40* 


474  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

vants  to  do  their  work,  as  not  one  in  a  hundred 
knows  how  to  do  it,  in  these  days  !  And  only  think 
of  Lavinia  actually  having  her  poor  maids-of-all- 
work  under  her  own  roof  to  comfort,  and  teach, 
and  help,  with  me  beside  her  to  see  she  doesn't 
spoil  them." 

And  Mifs  Betsy's  eyes  kindled  with  hope,  not 
the  less  because  her  military  soul  foresaw  enough  of 
wholesome  discipline  and  conflict  in  the  future  to 
keep  her  true  British  blood  healthily  stirring. 

Meanwhile,  Mr.  Leigh's  health  slowly  declined 
from  stage  to  stage ;  yet  he  himself  was  the  only 
one  of  the  little  family  party  who  indulged  in  no 
delusions  as  to  his  state.  So  much  of  his  life,  from 
character  as  well  as  from  circumstances,  had  been 
passive ;  so  much  of  his  inward  conflicts  had  arisen 
from  indecision  how  far  it  was  his  duty  to  suffer, 
and  how  far  to  contend,  that  now,  when  he  was 
called,  plainly  and  only,  to  suffer,  half  his  trials 
were  over.  In  suffering,  his  whole  nature  seemed 
to  rise  into  action.  So  entire  was  his  acquiescence 
that  mere  endurance  became  glorified  into  sacrifice. 
His  will  not  merely  submitted  to  all  the  trials  laid 
on  him,  but  actively  embraced  the  will  of  God,  "  re- 
joicing in  tribulation."  Life,  for  him,  had  long  had 
in  it  so  much  of  "  dying  daily,"  that  Death  appeared 
to  him  as  the  conscious  beginning  of  eternal  living. 
Life  had,  for  him,  had  in  it  so  much  that  was  pas- 
sive that  death  presented  itself  as  a  sacred  willing 
act.  He  had  so  long  endeavored  to  resign  his  will 
to  the  will  of  God,  that  the  last  act  of  commending 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


475 


his  spirit  into  the  hands  of  God  seemed  to  him  no 
strange  plunge  into  a  fathomless-  chasm,  but  simply 
the  last  step  of  a  long  but  necessary  descent,  after 
which  the  next  step  would  be  upward. 

Moreover,  his  relations  with  Grace  underwent  a 
gradual  transformation.  So  long  he  had,  uncon- 
sciously, been  leaning  on  her;  so  long  it  had  been 
her  one  aim  to  fulfill  her  mother's  dying  wish  that 
she  should  take  care  of  him  and  Harry,  that  they 
neither  of  them  marked  the  moment  when  all  this 
was  changed;  when,  as  they  went  down  together 
to  the  edge  of  that  gulf  which  one  only  was  to 
cross,  the  sufferer  became  the  supporter,  and  the 
heart  that  had  turned  so  instinctively  to  her  for 
comfort  and  strength,  began  at  length  to  give  in- 
stead of  receiving. 

"  Grade,"  he  said  one  evening,  when  Harry  was 
out,  "I  have  not  done  half  for  you  and  Harry  I 
could  have  wished.  But  perhaps  I  have  done 
nearly  all  I  could,  and  what  God  willed.  I  have 
had  one  concealment  from  you  darling,  which  it  is 
time  I  should  tell  you  of.  Out  of  that  sum  I  took 
for  pocket  money,  I  have  always  paid  an  insurance 
on  my  life.  It  is  but  little  Grace.  It  is  for  a 
thousand  pounds.  But  it  will  enable  you  to  set 
Harry  going,  and  perhaps  leave  a  little  to  be  in- 
vested to  help  out  your  income  by-and-by.  And 
for  the  rest  Harry  must  work.  Remember,  Grace, 
it  will  be  Harry's  greatest  safeguard  to  work  for 
you.  It  brings  nothing  of  what  you  dread  really 
nearer,  Gracie,"  he  concluded  (seeing  her  turn  away 
her  head),  "to  speak  of  it." 


476  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

"  Oil  father,"  she.  said,  trying  to  control  herself, 
"I  know  you  cannot  dread  it.  You  cannot  help 
wishing  to  go.  But  it  is  so  dreadful  to  think  things 
must  go  on,  when  every  thing  is  over  for  me." 

"  Not  every  thing,  darling,"  he  said,  taking  her 
hand.  "Remember,  there  is  Harry.  You  must 
bring  him  to  us — to  your  mother  and  me.  But 
never  forget,  Gracie,  work  will  be  Harry's  safe- 
guard. You  must  let  him  feel  he  has  to  work  for 
you.  I  know,"  he  added,  tenderly,  "  what  you  like 
best.  You  would  like  to  be  a  Providence  for  all 
you  love,  and  to  work  yourself  to  death  to  enable 
them  to  live  in  ease.  But  remember  that  would  be 
Harry's  ruin.  Nothing  will  help  him  more  to  grow 
into  a  true  Christian  man,  than  to  feel  he  has  a 
home  to  make  for  you.  I  spoke  to  him  once  about 
it.  And  by  the  look  of  resolution  that  came  over 
his  face,  and  by  the  way  he  has  worked  at  his 
lessons  since,  I  know  he  will  do  it,  and  in  doing  it, 
will  grow  what  he  should  be.  And  now,  Gracie," 
he  concluded,  "  I  want  to  see  Mr.  Bertram.  He  has 
not  been  here  much  lately.  I  suppose  he  is  more 
and  more  occupied  in  his  parish.  But  I  want  to 
ask  him  to  be  a  trustee  to  manage  that  little  pro- 
perty for  you  and  Harry." 

"No,  father,  please  not,"  said  Grace,  coloring 
beyond  all  control,  "  could  you  not  ask — ask — ask 
Cousin  Felix,"  she  suggested,  in  desperation.  "  Is 
it  not  better  to  have  such  things  in  one's  own 
family." 

"  Gracie,"  said  Mr.  Leigh,  very  gravely  and 
softly,  after  some  moments'  silence.  "  Remember  I 


THE  WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN.  477 

am  mother  and  father  to  you.  You  would  not,  I 
am  sure,  be  so  unjust  to  me  as  to  have  any  conceal- 
ments on  any  grounds  from  me." 

She  hesitated  an  instant,  and  then,  looking  down 
with  a  face  in  which  all  the  sudden  color  of  the 
minute  before  had  faded,  she  said,  "  Father !  I 
could  not,  I  could  never — have  left  you.  And  if  I 
had  told  you,  you  would  perhaps  have  thought  I 
wished  to  go,  and  not  have  allowed  me  to  give  Mr. 
Bertram  the  answer  I  did." 

"  But  Gracie,"  said  Mr.  Leigh  smiling  a  little,  as 
he  looked  at  her  downcast  eyelids.  "  It  might  have 
been  perfectly  simple,  might  it  not  ?  If  you  had 
only  told  me  you  did  not  wish  it,  I  should  have  be- 
lieved you,  should  I  not,  and  all  would  have  been 
quite  simple  and  plain." 

To  which,  Grace  tried  to  make  a  reply,  but  suc- 
ceeded in  making  none  except  through  the  sudden 
color  which  rushed  again  over  her  face,  and 
through  the  faintest  dawn  of  an  unconscious  smile 
which  dimpled'  her  cheeks. 

But  that  evening  Maurice  Bertram  received  a 
letter  from  Mr.  Leigh,  which  he  came  very  early 
the  next  morning  to  answer  in  person.  To  Mau- 
rice's disappointment,  Grace  was  nowhere  to  be 
found,  and  Mr.  Leigh,  little  Fan  said,  with  a  mul- 
tiplication of  courtesies,  was  not  up  but  wished  to 
see  Mr.  Bertram  in  his  bedroom. 

Before  the  day  was  closed  Maurice  stood  in  a 
relationship  to  Grace  and  Harry  which  gave  him 
the  right  to  take  every  possible  care  of  them  both. 
But  it  was  not  that  of  a  Trustee. 


478  WINIFRED  BERTRAM,  AND 

And  the  next  morning  Mrs.  O'Brien's  carriage 
was  waiting  a  long  time  outside  Mrs.  Treherne's 
shop,  to  the  great  glorification  of  Mrs.  Treherne. 

Mrs.  O'Brien  meekly  and  timidly  assured  Grace 
that  although  she  could  not  be  a  mother  to  her, 
"  of  course  no  one  but  a  mother  could,"  she  did  love 
her  with  a  love  as  nearly  like  a  mother's,  she  be- 
lieved, as  anything  else  in  the  world  could  be. 

And  Winnie,  when  she  and  Grace  stood  once  more 
together  alone  in  Grace's  little  bedroom,  before  the 
little  dressing-table  with  the  red  morocco  Bible  on 
it,  took  Grace's  hands  and  pressed  them  tight  in 
hers  and  said : 

"  Oh  Gracie,  I  am  so  glad,  in  the  very  inmost 
middle  of  my  heart.  And  I  am  so  glad  I  am 
glad,  Gracie.  For  I  always  thought  I  never  should 
have  been  able  to  love  any  one  who  took  Maurice 
away.  Because  I  had  so  planned  everything  all 
my  life.  But  I  am  glad,  Grace,  in  my  inmost  heart. 
And  I  am  so  glad  I  am  glad.  Because  it  does  show 
that  I  love  you  and  Maurice  reaUy,  doesn't  it? 
And  don't  you  think  it  may  show  that  I  have  got 
out  of  the  Contracting  Chamber,  at  last  ?  " 

And  she  threw  her  arms  round  Grace's  neck  and 
sobbed. 

"  But  I  am  crying,"  she  said,  "  because  I  am  so 
glad,  so  glad  and  thankful  to  God.  Rosalie  said, 
when  she  heard  it,  'Poor  little  one!  Then  the 
beautiful  lady  has  come  to  Mr.  Maurice  at  last. 
Thy  trials  are  begun.  Thou  canst  never  more  be 
the  first.  But  take  courage !  one  day  some  one  else 
will  love  thee  best ! '  But  I  was  angry  at  that, 


1HE    WORLD  SHE  LIVED  IN. 


479 


Gracie.  I  could  not  help  it.  Do  you  think  I  could  ? 
And  I  said,  '  Rosalie,  I  never  want  to  be  first  any 
more.  I  had  rather  be  second  with  Maurice  than 
first  with  any  one  else  in  the  world.'  And  I  would 
Gracie,  of  course.  And  then  only  think  of  our 
being  sisters — real  sisters.  I  wonder  I  never 
thought  of  it  before." 


END. 


I    \ 


UNIVERSITY  OF   CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

THIS  BOOK  IS  DtfE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


OCT20    1931 


30m-l,'15 


U.  C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


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